


Homewrecker

by astalavista



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Drama, F/F, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-02
Updated: 2011-06-20
Packaged: 2017-10-20 01:35:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/207400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astalavista/pseuds/astalavista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merrill hates Fenris. Enough that she'll try everything to break his blossoming relationship with Hawke. Little bit of F!Hawke/Fenris, mostly F!Hawke/Merrill. Fenris fans beware, F!Hawke/Merrill is my OTP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I got the idea for this story while listening to the new album of my lady love, Sophie Ellis-Bextor. One of her songs is called Homewrecker. Warning: this Merrill is not a cute and adorable ball of fluff. She's angry and bitter, and yet still so Merrill. The first chapter is relatively short and mostly inner monologue, so you get to understand how her mind works. Enjoy.

He looked like a puppy. Not like a cute and fluffy Hightown puppy cared for and loved by a child of Kirkwall's nobility. More like one of those ugly runts in Darktown who got kicked around and were left to die. Sometimes Merrill got lost in Darktown, and while trying to find her way she lurked in the shadows, and watched how Darktowners treated each other and creatures around them. It was not a pleasant sight. Nothing was pleasant in Darktown, where only despair reigned supreme.

There, Fenris tilted his head and looked at Hawke in this gut-wrenching way, just like Darktown puppies did before the boot hit them. Just a hint of hope in them that there would be more. Food, affection, a life. What did he see in Hawke? And more importantly, what did she see in him? Hawke turned to him, smiling brightly, offering him her plate of fried herb potatoes.

Merrill mused all this over the rim of her tankard of cheap Lowtown beer. Life was currently quiet around Kirkwall, as quiet as it ever got here, and thus the companions spent a considerable amount of time apart. They had their monthly night of drinking and games at the Hanged Man, and today was such a night.

Merrill didn't mind the time apart. It gave her time to work on the eluvian, and that's really all that she had come to Kirkwall for. She had made very little progress, but she had all the time in the world to pursue this passion of hers. Not that she was likely to have any success, with Hawke having denied the arulin'holm to her. She quickly took a swig of beer to hide the stab of pain she still felt about this. Her green eyes were locked upon Hawke. Good, righteous Hawke, warrior of justice and fairness around Kirkwall. Who felt that blood magic was evil and would destroy her and her clan. She had denied Merrill the tool with a warm touch to her shoulder, and this sad, caring smile that made Merrill want to punch her.

Merrill's dark reverie was broken when Isabela slid into the seat next to her, depositing fresh tankards of beer on the table. "Kitten, don't look so glum, I haven't seen you in weeks." The pirate lightly squeezed the elf's cheek, which made Merrill laugh. Isabela and Varric were the only one of the companions who genuinely cared for the elf, and they were the only ones who put her at ease. To the rest she was the rambling idiot girl from Sundermount, and she was happy to oblige to keep up the facade. It was easier that way. Once upon a time, when she set out on this task, she had genuinely been more lighthearted, but the first few years in Kirkwall had taught her better.

"I was just waiting for you to come back with more beer, and some exciting stories of what you have done in the meantime. Your stories are always so exciting!" Merrill smiled brightly, and honestly. Isabela didn't judge, and she told a good tall tale. She was so good at distracting Merrill from her undue amounts of rage and anger she felt about Fenris and Hawke. She felt she was in for a very booze-heavy night, to get her spirits soaring. Maybe later they would play Diamondback and she could take some money off Fenris. A girl could dream.

* * *

Unfortunately the great mood didn't last forever. As soon as the companions split apart and went their separate ways well past midnight, Merrill's mood darkened, and she regretted having joined the companions this night. On her way home through the streets of Lowtown, the alcohol was still working its way through her system, and the lightheartedness turned to bitterness. Watching Hawke and Fenris had been uncomfortable and insipid. She obviously was in love with him, every time that she gazed at the elf, and whatever kind of feelings he possessed, there was something going on as well. Was it love or just lust, or his trademark brand of hatred? Hard to tell. Based on the puppy looks, it probably was love.

She really wished she didn't spend so much time thinking about Fenris. She remembered meeting him the first time, on Sundermount. The day she started dealing with a man of her own race who treated her like dirt under his toenails. Every single attempt at friendly conversation and fraternization over their shared racial heritage was ripped to shreds by him. Every day he made up new slurs to express his distaste for her. In her head, she created her own slurs. Dimwit, imbecile, nitwit, kook, simpleton. Brooding, browbeating bully. Not that she ever spoke any of those. Merrill was not raised to be a vicious person at anyone. She kept the vindictiveness inside of herself, cradling it warmly, nursing it tenderly. It was all hers.

Besides, the imagined slurs all lacked impact. He would shrug them off if she used them on him. In truth, Merrill would never be able to hurt Fenris with words the way he was able to. She strove for perfection and appreciation, and did not receive any of it. She did not understand any of his goals, any of his dreams, other than the violent death of his slave master Danarius. No, her words would never harm him. All her words could achieve was that she prattled on until he lost his temper. It was small satisfaction, but it was something at least!

Merrill finally arrived at the alienage. She didn't feel like heading inside her home, only to see the blind eluvian laughing in her face. Sometimes she envisioned the cracks were eyes, and the device was mocking her futile efforts to restore it. No, she would much rather sit outside this summer night, praying to the creators that no thugs or rascals decided beating up elves in the alienage were on the agenda tonight. She sat on the ground, cross-legged, resting her back against the vhenadahl tree. The one lone tree in Lowtown, it often seemed. What a faint, shameful representation of the greatness that Arlathan had been. Would they ever achieve this greatness again? Merrill pulled her knees up against her chest and pressed her face against the bony knees. Sometimes she felt so overwhelmingly sad, about herself, but mostly about her people. So much potential, so much greatness, and it was all falling apart in her time, under her hands. If only she could fix the eluvian.

If only she had received the arulin'holm. It was Fenris' fault she didn't have it. He had been there, along with Anders and Hawke. Merrill had been so crushed about Pol's death, about his terrible reaction to her. She had still been mourning when he had already flung insults at her again. _You are a monster,_ he had said _._ He jeered and taunted her when she was met with nothing but derision back in the clan, when Marethari told them she had warned the others. When Marethari had given the tool to Hawke, he actively had talked her into not granting it to Merrill. Anders had applauded the decision. It had been very hard that day to think why she had wasted months on these people who didn't care about her fate, her aims, herself one bit. Hawke pretended to care, but she was not better than any of the others.

Merrill's eyes stung at the memory. It had been a month ago now, and it still hurt. It still ripped her heart to shreds. She should not have gone to see them tonight. She should not have subjected herself to Hawke's eager hug of greeting, as if the two of them were friends. She should not have subjected herself to the angry, brooding glares of the other elf, and the derision on his face. He didn't veil his insults, and the only one who ever came to her defense was Isabela.

Merrill leaned her head back against the bark of the vhenadahl. The sky was dark above her, and the stars were swimming in the sky. Either because of her angry tears or the amount of alcohol in her bloodstream. "Elgar'nan, lend me your strength. My heart is full with the desire to find retaliation, for all those who have harmed me. Fill me with purpose."

Maybe it was her prayer to the elvhen creator who was considered the god of vengeance, because a thought came to her. A very simple premise. Fenris had feelings for Hawke. He was unable to express them properly, Merrill was sure of that. There was this certain amount of tension between them that belied their feelings. Hawke certainly made no secret of it. What if it were true, and they had a relationship? Words couldn't hurt Fenris. Actions could. His heart could easily bleed. Just like Hawke's. Just like Merrill's heart was bleeding all the time.

The thought actually made her rise with a smile and stumble heavily towards her house. Time to sleep over it, and plot. It certainly was easier and had more promise of success than her efforts with the eluvian.

* * *

Merrill thought it was a sign that even the next morning when she slowly came to from her heavy alcohol-induced slumber that she still remembered that plan. Quite simple, all in all. She simply needed to break them apart.

As she steeped tea leaves in hot water, she rested her chin in one of her hands and pondered lazily. Isabela might be able to help her with this. Surely she could seduce either Hawke or Fenris, fueling a jealous rage that broke them apart. Merrill's eyes glazed over as she considered this. Since her childhood, she had always possessed a keen, imaginative mind that let her see things easily. _A daydreamer,_ is what Marethari called her. She had no problem imagining her friend seducing either one. Her mind rested on the image of Isabela and Hawke. Pretty.

For all that her companions thought she was naive and innocent, they truly got Merrill wrong. Merrill had no issues with imagining dirty things. Her imagination was very active. In Dalish camps, people simply didn't have the ability to hide her their nightly activities as well as the houses and walls in human cities allowed for. No, she didn't need help in that area at all. The only problem she had with dirty things was that she didn't understand the thousands of euphemisms humans had for the activities.

She forcefully broke her reverie and shook her head. Just too easily she could see how Fenris might actually find such a seduction inspiring. Isabela simply wasn't enough of a threat. Everyone knew she wasn't serious about relationships. Unfortunate.

No, the only course of action open to Merrill was to do it herself. Hawke was beautiful and intelligent, so it was not a huge sacrifice to make. Merrill felt absolutely nothing but disdain for their quasi-leader. She would be taking one for the team, certainly.

Merrill poured herself some tea with a smile. It would have a much wider impact on either of them if Merrill took it slow. She wouldn't just sleep with Hawke, she would fill her heart with distrust for the Tevinter slave. She would have to play with all her paranoia, all her fears. And he'd have to feel it, how Hawke trusted him less and less, every single day. Then the final betrayal.

She would definitely need to talk to Varric and Isabela to find out if they had any riveting literature that would help her cause. Not that she would tell them what she wanted such books for. They would think she was just lonely and needed inspiration. Little did they know.

Merrill hadn't felt this energized since their return from Sundermount. How sweet revenge would be.


	2. Chapter 2

“Kitten, I didn’t expect to see you back so soon. What a lovely surprise!” Isabela was never shy with her affection for the Dalish and nuzzled her hair playfully, before plopping back down on her chair. “You’re lucky to find me here, because Varric and I have a business meeting later.” She rubbed her hands gleefully. The two of them were conquering Kirkwall with their ‘Jester’ brand fiction. Thin pamphlets more widely spread than Anders’ manifesto, full of racy stories and ravishing and ravished heroes. 

“Oh, oh, if you are busy, I can come back another time. I wouldn’t want to be a bother, Isabela.” Merrill did not sit down yet because she really hoped to catch her friend at a moment that she actually had time to talk to her. It had been her first impulse to head back to the Hanged Man after she finished her morning tea, in her eagerness to get the ball rolling. The sooner she started, the earlier she would have her revenge. 

The Rivaini grinned and kicked a chair out for Merrill. “Sit down, let’s talk. We haven’t had a good talk in forever. I swear, I’ll drag you out by one of your lovely ears. You always sit in front of your mirror and never have time for me anymore. Too much work, not enough play, kitten. Don’t you want to go to the market with me? I promise I won’t abandon you for handsome sailors next time!” She pouted beautifully, and Merrill laughed, reaching out to squeeze one of her friend’s hands. Isabela drank some beer, which made Merrill wrinkle her nose. She was still feeling a slight pounding behind her eyes, but Isabela was already drinking again, before noon. “Come on, kitten, you’re never here without a reason these days. What can I do for you?”

It was the opening that Merrill had hoped for. Amongst their circle, no one was likelier to run her mouth and gossip fiercely than Isabela. Varric was a close second, but Isabela ruled supreme at this game. The racier the gossip, the more she was wont to talk about it. Merrill leaned to her and hurriedly whispered “What’s this with Hawke and Fenris? Are they doing...dirty things? They seemed very intense last night.” She actually blushed, not because of the content of her question, but her deceiving her friend like this. She wished she could be upfront about it, but she did not dare. Isabela would never keep quiet about it.

Of course the question was just feeding the bright gossip flame that was Isabela. She looked delighted at this. “Aren’t they ridiculously obvious? Hawke is just exploding with all her emotions, she can’t hide anything at all.” Isabela had made no secret of it to Merrill that she found Hawke endearing but boring. She never responded to the Rivaini’s flirtations, usually had no interest in partying or Diamondback nights, and was more likely to follow the path of righteousness than any path of profit. She turned down money if it went against her principles. Boring, boring, boring. “Him, he stops brooding around her, it’s quite amazing. I am however very sure that they haven’t done anything yet. There’s just too much tension between them. She’s actually coming by later. She wanted my advice. It’s the only reason that I am up this early.” She laughed, this deep, throaty laugh of true merriment. “She will be so uncomfortable, kitten, don’t you think? So much fun.”

Merrill was fascinated. What could Hawke want? Maybe something similar to her own visit with Isabela. Advice about Fenris possibly? And who better to sit in on it than Merrill, innocent Dalish elf, a meek kitten who would listen with big green eyes, shy giggles and fierce blushes at every suitable moment. “Oh, I hope it’s not a problem I am here. I guess I could leave, I didn’t know you were waiting for Hawke.”

Isabela shook her head. “Girls talk, I don’t see why you wouldn’t be able to stay. Look, there she is.” The Rivaini pointed at the door where a tired looking Hawke entered the room. She was in full armor, with a tall sword worn on her back. She looked calm and collected as always, albeit having dark circles underneath her eyes. Merrill studied her with pursed lips. There was no doubt that Hawke was beautiful, strong, quite intelligent for someone who usually whacked people with a giant sword, and charismatic on top of it all. There was also no doubt that she was an innocent maiden who happened to be a righteous, pompous ass on her worst days. Merrill kept a smile plastered to her face, as she greeted Hawke with a cheerful wave.

Hawke waved back, almost shyly, when she took a seat next to Merrill. “Good morning. I really didn’t count on you being up already, Isabela, or for you being here as well, Merrill. I hope you’re both well.” Always flawlessly polite, well-mannered, that was their Hawke. She rubbed her nose and then fidgeted with her hands. Merrill could relate to this, as she usually fidgeted with her scarf when she got this nervous. “Ah, I was hoping for some advice in areas I am not comfortable with.” She actually blushed, and kept rubbing her nose.

Merrill reached out and gently pulled Hawke’s hand to rest between her own hands. “If you keep rubbing like this, your nose will disappear. You would look funny without a nose.” Hawke turned her head to look at the elf, laughing softly. Her strong, calloused hand relaxed between Merrill’s far more delicate hands. It was a good first step. From now on, Merrill would have to be there for Hawke, be her friend, her companion, her confidante. Never shy with physical affection. Always there. Ready to pick her up whenever Fenris hurt or confused her. Ready to...use unconventional means for making her calm down. Merrill pressed her lips together briefly at the thought, as tantalizing, pretty images were in her head. Hawke’s hand felt very nice. This would be the best revenge ever.

Hawke took a deep breath and finally spoke up. “Girls, I think I am in love, but I don’t know how to do this.” Isabela leaned forward eagerly, her amber eyes alight with amusement, whereas Merrill still held  Hawke’s hand, all reassuringly, of course. “Can you help me?”

Isabela took a long swig of beer, chortling. “Of course we can, sweetcheeks. You only have to tell us what kind of help you need. Is it the kind where you want to bed him, I can provide advice that will make your toes curl, and you’ll race straight to his mansion. If you are looking for different advice, like courtship, you might have to ask our local expert. Aveline.” At that she burst out laughing, in memory of the almost tragic courtship period with Donnic. 

Hawke tensed at this, which made Merrill throw an arm around Hawke’s shoulders, the other hand still holding on to Hawke’s hand. “Ah, don’t worry. Isabela will be able to help you, certainly. Just talk. Getting it out will help, won’t it? She might educate the both of us!” Again, Hawke relaxed. So far Merrill seemed to find just the right notes to calm her down, which made the elf smile.

“Ah, well, what I mostly need is advice regarding how to proceed. Figure out if I am reading the signs correctly.” Hawke propped an elbow up on the table and rested her chin in her palm, while her other hand’s fingers laced with Merrill’s, almost naturally. “I don’t even know if he’s interested in me, you know? It’s easier to tell with...say, Anders, he is a bit more forward, even though I am not interested in him at all.” She let out a sigh of frustration.

Isabela snorted at that. “Honey, you have to be blind not to see he’s interested. When he thinks you’re not looking, he just stares at you, all mooning. I would have thought he’s more direct, he certainly always seemed interested in my advances, but with you he seems to go all shy.” Hawke’s eyes had widened when Isabela indicated her own interest, and once again, Merrill was reminded of the Darktown puppies, downtrodden and oft-kicked. By the creators, Fenris and Hawke both were hopeless. “Relax, I won’t touch him if you want him. I have my standards. It’s not like I am some kind of homewrecker.” 

Merrill sat stiffly, her arm still around Hawke’s shoulders. Isabela’s words were strangely piercing. Was it right to be so vindictive? The elf remembered a time when she was more gentle, nicer. Then she remembered Fenris calling her a monster while she was grieving for Pol, and her doubts were wiped away. A homewrecker she would be.

Hawke seemed relieved and with a blush on her cheeks gratefully nodded to Isabela. “What should I do now? I mean, you would probably suggest that I just head to his mansion and resolve it, but that’s not how I work. I want to wait for him, have him come for me. I want to make sure he understands my feelings, without being pushy.” Her eyes glazed over, her mind probably lingering on most romantic notions. It was enough to make Merrill’s stomach churn a bit. So bland and so overly sweet it made your teeth fall out.. 

Isabela broke Hawke’s daydream with another fit of laughter. “I am sorry, honey, but you came to the wrong girl. Varric is far more of a romantic than I will ever be. I deal in raw passion, in two bodies colliding, in mindless rutting. In dark alleys, in proper estates like yours, or in ruins like his. I don’t do this romance thing, sorry to disappoint.” When Hawke looked at her full of disappointment, she reached out to ruffle Hawke’s hair. “Don’t worry. I mean, look, you are sitting next to the most adorable person I know. She is probably full of romantic notions. Aren’t you, Merrill?”

That was enough to make Merrill stutter, and she blushed, up to the tips of her ears. “Uh, I don’t know about that.” She let go of Hawke’s shoulder and hand and started fidgeting with her scarf. It was not that she was embarrassed, though she was also that, but that her mind was now working feverishly. What could she possibly tell Hawke? The opportunities. She could just make up things that would delay their relationship, grant her more time to truly put a wedge between them.  She took a deep breath. “It’s all terribly romantic, I think. I just wish I knew more about Tevinter elves. He is...somewhat reluctant to tell me much.” She smiled apologetically.

“I really don’t know if their traditions are the same as ours. Dalish have a lot of arranged marriages and courtship is very formal. Sometimes, if an Arlathvenn is going to happen in the near future, they will wait until the time of the meeting.” She scratched her head for a moment. “Ah, the Arlathvenn are once a decade. I joined the Sabrae at such a meeting, when I was four years old.”

Merrill smiled thinly at that, and both her current companions gave her sympathetic smiles. Fools. They thought her discomfort was talking about the Sabrae, and her cultural background, when in truth she was worried that she was laying it on too thickly. Hawke would never wait years for Fenris.  Her story was hardly the truth so far. There was nothing formal about the Dalish other than their rites. Mating, love, courtship, it all seemed a lot easier than what she had seen amongst the city elves and the humans. The Dalish did not have the weight of the Chantry dragging their relations down. 

The elf rubbed her chin for a moment. “He probably is currently only looking for something physical. He doesn’t seem like he’s ready to form any emotional attachment. He is too angry for that. You might have to find his slave master first.” She chuckled at this. “He is driven with his past the way I am driven by the heritage of my people. Priorities, you understand. But I will think about this, Hawke, I promise. I have books about the Tevinter, and I will also go see the library. I love their history selection. I will find out more about the Tevinter elves, so that I will be able to help you better. Surely we can make him love you.”

Hawke’s smile was so genuine and touching that Merrill’s bad conscience was nagging at the back of her head again. For just a blink. Their eyes locked gazes, until Merrill looked away. Isabela broke the short, awkward moment with a loud yawn. “You two are making me so sleepy. Tell me more exciting things. Have you read the friend fiction Varric and I wrote?” She pushed a thin book towards Hawke and Merrill, and moments later they were reading the tales of Aveline and Donnic, in vivid detail. What a splendid imagination Isabela and Varric had.   


* * *

On the one hand, Merrill had to get closer to Hawke. This seemed to work so far. Whereas she had gone weeks without being asked along for any of Hawke’s errands, she was now asked along frequently, much to Fenris’ displeasure. On the other, she had to start filling Fenris’ head with doubts. She was looking forward to this, almost more than playing her part with Hawke.

One afternoon on the Wounded Coast, the wind carried some heated words to her, Fenris actually yelling at Hawke that he could not understand why she tolerated the filthy blood mage’s presence. Hawke seemed to win the argument, and soon she and Aveline were far ahead of the two elves as they returned to Kirkwall. Fenris hadn’t noticed that Merrill was walking right behind him. He was too busy brooding and mumbling to himself. 

Merrill studied his form from behind. Lanky, sinewy, with the elegance of a dancer. Based on physical aspects, she couldn’t blame Hawke for her infatuation. He was easy on the eyes, if you liked the kind of person who never smiles. The lyrium tattoos added a certain mystique. He probably was charming in his own way when you were not a mage. His personality disgusted Merrill.

She actually snuck up on him and then hissed “Boo!” in his pointed ears. Fenris nearly jumped, and turned, reaching out to Merrill with a hand. For a moment, for a frightening moment, she expected him to reach into her chest and rip her heart out as she had seen him do. She sensed the power flaring in his lyrium markings, she saw them glow faintly. He wanted to. The last moment, he regained control and merely grabbed her shoulder, shaking her painfully. “Stop talking to me, monster. Leave me alone. Being near you sickens me.”

Merrill wriggled out of his grasp. “I heard you. I know you hate me. I know you don’t want Hawke to have me around. Get used to it. She’s never going to do just what you want her to do.” She lowered her voice, with a smile. “You can’t be her master. Everyone knows Hawke. No one knows Fenris. You will always be below her.”

She skipped through the sand on the coast road, as if she was out for a merry day of picking flowers along the rocks of the coastline. “You don’t really ever expect her to return your feelings, do you? They are so obvious on your face. She knows them. She’d never act on them, though. A slave would be so unsuitable for a Kirkwall noble like her. Have you heard of all the suitors lining up for her?”

Merrill turned her head to watch his face carefully. So many warring emotions. For all of his brooding, he was easy to read. He spit out, aiming at her feet. “I am not a slave,” he spit out words now, full of anger. “Don’t you ever call me slave again, witch. I have no master. I will find him and kill him, and I will have no qualms killing you as well, blood mage. I am not afraid of you and your demon-augmented powers..”

The Dalish was now walking just a little bit ahead of Fenris. “Oh, I know you are not afraid. And yet, you cannot do anything.  If it weren’t for Hawke, I’d be gone. We’re friends, you know. She likes me quite a lot. She probably still feels bad that you destroyed my work when you made her deny me the arulin’holm. If you harmed me, she would never touch you.” She looked over her shoulder again. “Poor, lonely Fenris. Ashamed of his status, pining away for a woman well above him. Keep waiting for her to come to you. It might be a long time.”

The sand was quite hot under her bare feet. Merrill skipped through the sand some more, like a fanciful young elf frolicking through the woods. She picked up a flower that grew by a tree, and then hurried to catch up to Hawke and Aveline. “Look, isn’t this flower quite lovely? I am sure if you put it in your hair, it would give you a softer look. Elvhen men like this.” She spoke those words softly so that Aveline wouldn’t hear. Hawke took them to heart and tucked the blue flower behind her ear. It matched her eyes startlingly. She looked over her shoulder towards Fenris, with flushed cheeks, then smiled gratefully at Merrill.

How would it look to Fenris, Merrill idly mused. Wouldn’t it look like Merrill gave a flower to Hawke as token, and she gratefully put it in her hair? Wouldn’t he be fuming that Hawke showed so much appreciation to a woman he despised so? The Dalish didn’t need to look behind her, she almost physically felt the waves of his hatred for her. 

And so the seeds of discord were sown.


	3. Chapter 3

Whenever Hawke came to visit, and she did this more frequently lately, Merrill would spend an undue amount of time sitting before the eluvian, spending some bogus efforts on 'restoring' it. Sometimes she used blood magic, just because she could. From the corner of her eye she would see Hawke cringing when the knife cut her arm or her palm. It clearly made her uncomfortable. She cherished those moments, sometimes drawing them out indefinitely until she felt Hawke would jump up and leave any moment. It didn't even matter to her that it hurt to cut herself. It could not hurt more than having her people's heritage taken from her. It served as a reminder that this was what was important for Merrill. It was her anchor. The one thing that Hawke had denied her. Merrill didn't know how to fix the eluvian without the arulin'holm. She spent sleepless, tearful nights trying to find a solution for her dilemma. Making Hawke wait and watch her didn't help her cause at all, but it soothed Merrill's raging and aching heart. Just for a little while.

When she rose, Hawke was right behind her, offering her a white handkerchief, with a really pained expression on her face. She gently took Merrill's hand and bandaged it with the kerchief. It was...awkward. Sweet, but awkward. Merrill stared down at her hands, splaying her fingers. She didn't want to feel that anything Hawke did was sweet. "I wish you didn't do that, Merrill. Surely, there is another way," she murmured. It sounded heartfelt.

It made Merrill angry. "There is no other way, it needs to be done. I'll figure it out. Let's talk about something else." She moved her fingers, the bandage tied neatly. "Thank you, Hawke. You needn't have done that." Merrill moved to pour both of them tall cups of water, the only kind of beverage she had around the house. Food and drink were never very serious concerns of her, and her need for both seemed to lessen the longer she worked on the mirror. She sat down by one of her tables and looked up at Hawke, her usual chipper self, despite still being angry inside. "It's so nice of you to come visit me all the time now. I really appreciate it. I would miss you if you stopped."

Hawke chuckled, exhaling and brushing hair from her eyes. "Never worry, I won't stop. I like talking to you. You are very interesting. In a way, I can be grateful that...that Fenris is a bit slow, because it made us pick up our friendship again, didn't it?" She laughed easily and sat down, drinking the cool water.

Again, she said. Had they ever been friends? Hawke had visited a couple of times but that was before the Deep Roads expedition. That was before Fenris became her constant companion. That was before Bethany died from the taint of the darkspawn. Since then Hawke had kept her distance, and had been antagonizing every time Merrill brought up her work. "Is he still that slow? I have been reading more, about Tevinter. It's quite fascinating, if morbid. The Dalish do of course have extensive knowledge of the Tevinter Imperium. The magisters destroyed Elvhenan, shattered the glory of Arlathan, and enslaved us. We are of the same race, Fenris and I, and yet so different."

Merrill reached for a book and leafed through it. "It says that amongst Tevinter elves, slaves of the same master stick together, forming relationships. Often, they try to keep their relationships secret, because their masters might exploit them. Not all of the magisters are supposed to be cruel, but many of them are reckless. Still, based on power disparity, he maybe feels you are too elevated for him right now. Maybe you need to tell him that you're not."

Hawke took another hurried sip of water, her eyes widening. "How...how do you bring something like that up? Hey Fenris, I think I am in love with you, and even though you squat in a ruined mansion in Hightown and I am descended from a Kirkwall noble family, we're really at the same level? Now kiss me?"

Merrill covered her mouth with a hand to not laugh out loudly. How delightful. Not only would Fenris rip her head off if she said that, but no, Hawke actually admitted that she was aware of their disparity. Did she detect a hint of pride in her accomplishments? Precious. "Maybe that wouldn't work so well. Maybe ask him to invite you for dinner? At his mansion? Instead of inviting him over, he might feel you're more on the same level. I mean, you got to impress some interest on him." She leaned forward with a bright smile. "I would ask you to invite me for dinner." Her green eyes twinkled with amusement.

"Maybe I will do both of that then, Merrill." Hawke's eyes were filled with dreamy hope that this plan might work out. "You are such a wonderful listener, Merrill, and you don't mock me like Isabela would. Thank you." She reached out to touch the hand that was not bandaged, quite lightly. _I only mock you inside my head, Hawke._

* * *

Merrill felt strange hanging out and about in Hightown. She was leaning against the wall of Fenris' mansion, and had to fend off the attention of various people. Some thought she would run errands for them for little pay. Others thought she was selling her body, which was worse. City guards thought she was out to burgle the mansions, which was quite preposterous. All she did here was standing around, waiting for Fenris to come back from where ever he was. It didn't matter how many hours she'd have to wait. It would be worth it.

Finally he came, after darkness had fallen, ready to sneak into the mansion of his former master. He was a squatter, not the rightful owner, and it was only through Aveline's protection that he had lasted this long. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Merrill next to the entrance door. In the dim light of Kirkwall's Hightown after evening set in, the only thing she could see of him was the shock of silver hair on his head. He slouched towards her, then reached for the sword on his back. "Get away from me, witch. I won't waste my breath on you."

Merrill pushed herself away from the wall of the mansion, reaching for the staff on her back. It was not that she could not protect herself. He could not slaughter her on the streets of Hightown in hopes of getting away with it. "Maybe I shouldn't waste my breath on you. I merely wanted to share something with you, from elf to elf. You keep rejecting my offers of friendship."

"I would never be friends with a mage," he hissed at her. "Far less a blood mage. A menace to all." Fenris' eyes were glowing with anger now, close to her. So easily provoked.

The Dalish took a deep breath. "Just a word of advice. Hawke visited today. She had this lovely idea that you should server her dinner, prepared for her at your mansion. She thought it would maybe suit your history, what you're used to, and that it would put you more at ease if you treated her like your new master. I could hardly believe my ears, Fenris. She is however very affectionate when she speaks of you. Maybe quite like your former master. What was his name again? Danarius?" She moved away a few steps. "I find it rather tactless she would consider something like this, so I am warning you. Even I have my limits." She audibly heard his teeth gnash. The arrow had hit its mark. Was his heart bleeding? She hoped so.

She turned and left, leaving him to brood. Yes, waiting had been worth it.

* * *

The next time Merrill saw Hawke, the other woman's eyes were red-rimmed, and she was clearly upset. She stumbled into Merrill's house in the alienage, and after one kind look of the elf, she crumpled in her arms, crying on Merrill's shoulder. By the time she had regained her breath, Hawke barely managed to choke out how much Fenris had hated her dinner proposal, and in fact had forbidden her from coming to his mansion for the time being.

Merrill held her, stroked her hair, and murmured soothing words in elvhen. Playing those two off was so easy so far. Eventually Hawke would notice though how terrible Merrill's advice was. That was worrisome. They weren't that advanced yet though, there was still time.

"Will you come have dinner with me, at my mansion, Merrill? I don't want to be alone tonight." Hawke looked despondent, and maybe a touch less attractive than she usually did. Her skin was all blotched from crying, and her nose was running. She looked far more likeable right now than she ever had before. Alarming. Merrill nodded, and then went to find a clean kerchief for Hawke, to dry her tears.

* * *

Dinner at the Hawke Estate was a pleasant affair. Hawke's mother actually had gone out to dine with one of her suitors, which meant that the exquisite food served at Hawke's table was all theirs. While Merrill usually never bought enough food for herself, she dug in heartily when given the opportunity.

"Maybe I need to have you over more often, Merrill. You look like someone who was starving and now sees food again for the first time." Merrill slowed down at Hawke's words, and quickly wiped her mouth with a napkin. Hawke had relaxed again after her bouts of crying earlier, and actually laughed at Merrill's apologetic expression. "Eat, Merrill. There's plenty. You do look a bit thin. I am glad you came."

Merrill swallowed but was at a loss for words. Dealing with Hawke was really not as easy as she had expected. Elgar'nan, she was too nice. It was clearly Fenris' fault, this all. Maybe Hawke was blameless. Mythal, so much confusion. She drank more wine. Both Hawke and Merrill had partaken of it generously, and Merrill was pretty sure that this potent red wine had made her quite drunk. You couldn't really compare it to the swill you got in Lowtown.

The dessert course was spectacular. Fresh strawberries! The Brecilian Forest had been the last place where they picked wild strawberries. When they fled the Blight, they chose Sundermount as their camp. A mountain dedicated as burial site was not the best place to find nature's delicacies. She loved strawberries. There was even whipped cream, and a bowl of something that Hawke called liquid chocolate.

"And what exactly is that?" It looked dark, liquid and maybe a touch unwholesome. Hawke picked a strawberry, dipped it into the chocolate, and then ate it, making a delightful sound. It actually was appealing on many levels. It was a profound moment for Merrill as she watched Hawke lick the chocolate off the berry, dig her teeth into it, and then make those sounds of pleasure. She was not immune to her beauty. She had chill bumps on her skin.

"Come on, try one," Hawke urged her, then dipped another strawberry into the liquid and lifted it to Merrill's lips. The elf was confused, but did not resist. Especially not once the chocolate reached her taste buds. She voraciously finished the strawberry, ending up with her lips against Hawke's fingers. It was shocking for either of them. Especially when Merrill reached up to take hold of Hawke's wrist, and then moved to dip that hand into the chocolate bowl. "Maker, Merrill, what are you doing?"

The elf giggled and then looked at Hawke with a startling intensity. "Just a little harmless fun, Hawke. I did not know it would be this delicious." She still held Hawke's wrist, and lifted it back up, bringing the fingers that were coated in chocolate to her lips. She licked every drop of chocolate from the other woman's fingers, locking her gaze with hers. Just a little harmless fun, between friends. Hawke's eyes clouded with something akin to lust, mixed with shame. But she didn't withdraw the hand.

"I wonder what my vallaslin would look like in chocolate." Merrill let go of Hawke's wrist, licking her lips. Before she could say or do anything else, Hawke had already dipped her fingers into the bowl, and started tracing the lines on Merrill's face. The elf closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity of this all. She had wanted to accelerate the physical aspects of their 'friendship' because soon the lies about Tevinter slaves would no longer work, but this was actually a lot faster than expected. She felt the chocolate drying on her face, felt her skin burn under the gentle touch of Hawke's fingers.

"Done! You look perfect." Hawke giggled and looked entirely flustered. She licked the excess chocolate off her fingers. Such a captivating image. Merrill tried to cool herself down with flashes of memories of Sundermount. She needed more control. Her memory locked on Fenris and Anders mocking her once Hawke had denied her. What a cold shower.

More calculatingly, Merrill put a coy smile on her lips. "And now what? You can't waste the good chocolate like this. You need to eat it. Like this." She dabbed some of the chocolate on Hawke's face, right next to her lips, and then leaned forward to lick it off. She heard Hawke's breath hitch in her throat. Merrill's senses reeled. Hawke was so innocent, so sweet. How empowering it felt to play with her like this. Fenris wouldn't be able to compete with this. "Come on, Hawke, try it. All the tasty chocolate."

What an intoxicating mix of desire, joy, shame and guilt, so visible in Hawke's eyes. Merrill put both hands on Hawke's thighs, leaning forward again to have another lick at the spot. Their faces were so close. Hawke exhaled, and with an almost tormented sigh closed the gap, kissing and licking the chocolate lines off Merrill's face. "I bet that tastes good, Hawke. It feels good." She murmured encouragingly, until it felt like every trace of her chocolate vallaslin, from forehead to her bottom lip, was all wiped clean. Her hands dug into Hawke's legs when their lips almost touched. Merrill couldn't help herself, it was her body reacting, not her mind.

Just some harmless fun between friends.

Merrill looked at the shaken Hawke who still wore all those conflicting emotions on her face, amplified by all the alcohol. She made a quick executive decision. Best not to overdo it. She emptied her glass of wine, then rose. "Hawke, thank you for such a wonderful dinner. You are the greatest of friends. Thank you for sharing the chocolate with me. Only true friends would share something like this. We are friends, yes? All good?" She could not resist dipping into the bowl one last time, wiping a chocolate smudge across the bridge of Hawke's nose. It looked reckless, far more reckless than their intrepid hero actually was. Hawke numbly nodded and opened her lips to speak, yet Merrill stopped her, with sweet fingers. Hawke kissed the fingers, briefly enclosing them with the warmth of her lips, of her mouth. Time to leave, before Merrill did something stupid. She leaned down to kiss the tip of Hawke's nose, and then departed.

As she stumbled down the neverending steps towards Lowtown, Merrill's body burned with the same conflicting emotions she had seen on Hawke's face. She should feel triumphant that she had filled Hawke with lust for her, and she certainly lusted for Hawke, but it also felt dirty and shameful.

She considered sending Fenris a message, informing him how his rejection of Hawke was driving her into Merrill's arms. No. Too early.

Merrill touched a hand to her sticky face, and wished she tasted the chocolate again, and not this bitter taste as of ashes. Was it the acrid air of Lowtown, or was it because she was messing things up? It was impossible to tell.


	4. Chapter 4

"Maker's Balls, I wish I knew what's going on with Hawke and Fenris." Isabela was hanging out at the bar of the Hanged Man, studying Merrill over the cup of cheap rum she was nursing this evening. "And you." Merrill arched her brows and then shook her head in confusion.

The elf had to tug a finger between her throat and her scarf because she suddenly felt constricted, as if there was not enough air in the tavern this night. Isabela couldn't possibly know that she was messing with them. Or could she? She hadn't made much progress recently. Hawke had avoided her for a time, after that dinner, maybe a week, before things had relaxed between them. Fenris still had made no move, and Merrill was confident that Hawke was simply too shy in matters of love to ever reveal herself. It had been more than two months now since her grand declaration of love for Fenris.

Playing with the fringes of her scarf, Merrill looked at Isabela with big, green eyes. "As far as I know nothing's going on between Fenris and Hawke." She looked over her shoulder, to where most of the companions were seated. The two 'lovebirds' were across from each other, and seemed unable to exchange any words. Hawke had a lovelorn smile on her lips, and Fenris brooded, mostly adding scornful comments to the conversations of the others. He seemed incapable of much else. "She'll never tell him, and I am out of ideas. If I had any in the first place. She should not have placed her hopes on me. I know nothing about love."

It was the most honest thing she ever had said about this whole matter. Nothing but the truth. Hawke shouldn't have placed her hopes, her dreams on Merrill. No one should. Nothing would ever come of it. She took a quick drink when the bitterness in her seemed to overflow.

Isabela sighed and reached out to touch Merrill's arm. "I do worry about you, kitten. Right now, you looked incredibly unhappy. You deserve to be happy." And what if I don't? "Anyhow, what I meant when I mentioned you in the equation is that...well, it sounds ridiculous, I know, but I would swear that Hawke looks at you much the same way she looks at Fenris when she thinks you're not looking." Merrill gaped, looking shell shocked, and she was. "You two seemed close lately, so I was just wondering if her interest has maybe...wandered." She suggestively arched her brows, looking expectant.

Merrill nearly snorted rum through her nose at that expression. "If you are implying...no. Noooo, Isabela. All she ever tells me about is Fenris." Her heart was drumming in her ears, and in her chest. How hopeful this was. Maybe she had already succeeded at her plan without even knowing. Her heart was fluttering because of the possible success. Not because I care. "What a remarkable thought, Isabela. You know that if anything changed, you'd be the first one I told. That's how much you mean to me."

Isabela sighed with a smile, and pulled Merrill to her. "Sometimes you are so adorable that I just want to steal you away, kitten, and lick you all up." The tips of Merrill's ears were burning at those words, and she laughed. Her arms around the pirate squeezed tightly. She laughed more when she looked over Isabela's shoulder and saw Hawke, with a distinct hint of jealousy in her guileless eyes, watching them closely.

* * *

  
The summer was plagued with lots of political tensions over the Qunari issue. Their continued presence and the increased conversions to the Qun were like sparks on bundled straw, ready to burst into flame anytime. The viscount was increasingly worried, and the Chantry was meddlesome.

Kirkwall seemed to reflect the tensions with the driest summer since the Blessed Age. Outside of Kirkwall, fires raged through forests, caused by unwary travelers' campfires at night. Crops wilted and died. It was looking to be a poor fall and winter for the farmers and general populace of the Marches in the immediate vicinity of the city.

The city itself was unbearable to be in. Everything was dust and dryness, and consuming heat. People barely left their houses. Wells ran dry, and the rich feasted on iced delicacies, while the poor were grateful for every drop of water in their parched throats. The Lowtown Bazaar was deserted, with little produce to be sold. In short, it was miserable.

And then the Summer Torrent came. After over a month of unprecedented heat, the floodgates opened, and it rained, it rained, it rained. The streets of Low- and Darktown were flooded from the deluge as the amount of water coming down was almost as unprecedented as the heat had been.

* * *

  
Merrill was giddy, and danced through her house when the first drops started falling. "Mythal be praised, it's raining, Hawke. It's raining!" It was easy to tell for her, as the drops were falling right on the floor of her house. When the rain started falling harder and harder, the water started to pool on the uneven floor. Hawke put aside the book of romantic poetry that Merrill had given her. The latest plan was to woo him with self-written poetry. Of course Hawke had no idea that Tevinter slaves were not allowed to read, and so remained illiterate. That would go over well with Fenris, for sure. Merrill was hoping she'd be allowed to deliver the poetry for Hawke.

"Uh, your roof has...many holes." Hawke looked alarmed when the first puddles ran together. The rain drummed loudly on the roof, with much force. Merrill danced through the puddles with her bare feet, with the unadulterated joy of a Dalish elf. The water pooled faster. "You can't possibly stay here today."

Merrill was full of unconcern. She quickly collected all important books and put them up on her shelves. She had so little of value, what damage would a little water do? "We can't possibly stay inside, Hawke. Let's go outside. Let's enjoy the rain. It has been too long." She impulsively reached for Hawke's hand and dragged her outside.

The elves of the alienage had gathered around the vhenadahl. It pleased Merrill to see that they remembered their heritage enough to enjoy the return of the rain. Both Merrill and Hawke were not wearing their usual armor, as the heat had been too stifling to wear any form of metal. They were soaked to the skin in minutes. "Elgar'nan has fought the sun again, defying the sun's fierce power over us. We must now celebrate and enjoy the rain!" The Dalish raised her arms to the sky, lifting her face. Water streamed down her cheeks, over her forehead, soaking her hair. She hadn't felt so carefree in years. She raised her voice in song, a short song in praise of the All-Father and the Great Protector. When she finished it, her eyes sought Hawke.

Hawke's hair was plastered to her skull, and her cotton shirt clung to every curve. She looked beautiful. Her face was radiant, and awestruck. "That was beautiful, Merrill." She bit her bottom lip and then boldly said "Ma serannas, lethallan." It sounded clumsy, but she spoke elvhen. For Merrill. The elf had to swallow hard at this.

Merrill reached for Hawke's hand, chuckling even though a fist was still squeezing her heart about that gesture. "It was my pleasure. We must thank the Creators." She dragged Hawke to the biggest puddle that she could find in the alienage, dragged her closer, and then started to jump, showering them both with rain, a fountain hitting Hawke straight in the face.

"You!" Hawke wiped the excess water from her face, and then retaliated by driving down a booted foot in the puddle. Soon, their water fight became more intense, when Merrill started scooping up water from larger puddles. Hawke chased after her, now in the spirit of the game as well.

The streets of Lowtown were filled with people who had been hiding from the glaring sun. Now everyone wanted to be outside, to feel the coolness of the rain, and water on parched tongues. Children were playing the same kind of water games that Merrill and Hawke were playing, as they chased each other through the streets. Merrill's sides were hurting from running, and laughing. How she laughed that day.

Hawke was physically stronger, but Merrill was agile and kept escaping her reach. It was of course entirely possible that Hawke let her escape. She never looked where she was running, only stopping at the larger puddles. Soon, they were no longer puddles, as the poor drainage of Lowtown was unable to handle such water masses. They were to the ankles in water, but still, they chased each other, flinging water at every opportunity. When Merrill finally noticed where they were, she stumbled over the first step that led up to Hightown, colliding with one of the walls.

The other woman flipped Merrill around and triumphantly declared "Got you!" Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were gleaming with excitement, and she looked like a drowned rat. A gorgeous drowned rat though. Hawke pressed her against the wall. They were both breathing hard from the exertion. Hawke's breath felt hot on her face. She smelled like the summer rain around them, like the mint leaves she had chewed earlier, like wet leather. She smelled like Hawke.

Merrill instinctively reached up to cup her face, then pulled her down for a kiss. Hawke's hands were on the wall right next to Merrill's head. For a moment she was sure Hawke would withdraw. She felt her stiffen, lean back, to lean forward again just as quickly. The kiss was soft, like a feather, and sweet like the chocolate they had at their dinner. Their lips brushed over each other's time and again.

They did not separate until some random Lowtown creep interjected, offering them coin to see them do more in an alley down the street. Hawke actually punched him on the nose in one of her rare battle rages, and he stumbled backwards, to fall onto his ass in the rainwater.

Merrill tugged on Hawke's hand before the situation could escalate, pointing up the stairs. "I wonder if the people in Hightown are out on the streets as well!" That was distraction enough, and the two of them giddily bounced up the long stairway.

Merrill felt happy, and she did not even question that in her mind.

* * *

  
There were no celebrating people in Hightown. The nobles had not felt the oppressive heat as much, in their tall stone buildings with windows and ventilation, with their cold storage, and iced drinks. The Circle mages had been busy producing ice for the rich and the Chantry. What a convenient use of their power. If you were rich or a Chantry member, that is.

No, in Hightown people wandered about with fancy, colorful umbrellas, on clear streets washed clean by the rain. The rivulets of water all drained towards Lowtown, running down the steps in a rush of water. The last hundred steps had been an adventure. Merrill had slipped in the water at times, but Hawke held her hand, kept her steady, kept her safe.

By the time they reached the square before the Hawke Estate, near the Viscount's Way, both were exhausted and almost a little bit cold from the clammy wetness on their skin. "You can't go back today. Who knows when the water will drain? Tomorrow we will hire repairmen for your roof!"

Merrill wrung her green shirt that hung loosely and wetly on her body. She did not wear her chainmail underneath, nor her scarf, so the skin of her long neck and her collarbone lay bare. "I don't have the money for repairmen, Hawke, or the roof would have been fixed a while ago. It does not matter. The rain won't harm the eluvian, and that's the only piece of value in my home." Talking about the mirror made her heart feel as cool as her skin was right now. "Once the rain is over, it will be a stifling, humid mess in Kirkwall."

Hawke's gaze had gone noticeably cooler when the eluvian was mentioned, and she shook her head. She looked as if she wanted to say something, but then snapped her mouth shut audibly. Instead she ran a hand through Merrill's wet hair. "Your braids are coming undone. Maybe I can help you redo them. Let's go inside."

There was almost no heat trapped in the cool walls of the Hawke Estate. It felt so pleasant to be inside. Of course, both of them were now leaving puddles on the floor, puddles that Bodahn was only too eager clean up. Hawke's mother exclaimed in horror when she saw them, and ushered them upstairs into Hawke's bedroom, for a change of clothing. The mabari chased them excitedly, barking all the way. "He would love to play in the rain, I am sure," Merrill exclaimed, which earned her another irritated look from Leandra Amell.

When the bedroom door closed behind them, Hawke let out a long breath. "I am sorry, my mother still treats me like a six year old who trailed the rain inside. Though we really do need to get changed." She threw Merrill a towel from one of her dressers and started to dry her own hair with another. She then rummaged around to find a change of clothing for Merrill. "I...I think the only thing I have that could possibly fit you is an old robe of Bethany's."

The look in Hawke's eyes at suggesting that was so raw and pained that it hurt Merrill. It confused her, why would she hurt for Hawke when in truth all she felt was disdain for her? Because you are bloody lying to yourself, Merrill, that's why. Here Hawke was offering her a robe of her dead sister, the mage who had died on the expedition to the Deep Roads, making it her second sibling to die.

"I would be humbled and honored to wear one of her robes, Hawke. Ma serannas, lethallan." Merrill bowed her head and took the offered robe, pulled from a polished chest of fine rosewood, lovingly taken care of. It probably contained the rest of the belongings Hawke had kept as memories of her sister. How lonely she must be.

Of course, now they had the issue of actually changing, in the same room. Both of them were incredibly hesitant, until Hawke cursed at the puddle of water on the carpeted floor. She quickly kicked off her boots, lingeringly looked at Merrill, and then in a rush of fumbling fingers tried to get her clothes off as quickly as possible.

It was not fast enough to hide her body from Merrill's sight. She was lithe and sinewy, muscles rippling right underneath her soft skin. She was a fighter, and she moved like one, and she looked like one. Merrill couldn't recall ever having seen anyone more athletic, and more beautiful. Her curves weren't lush as Isabela's were, but well defined. Merrill lowered her gaze, because she didn't want to be caught staring, and because she, by the creators, was overwhelmed by the woman's beauty.

When she next looked up, Hawke was wearing the finery she usually wore around her mansion. As she wore no boots, the short patterned skirt showed plenty of leg, tantalizing flashes of toned skin. The mauve tunic with the Hawke crest was filled quite nicely with her broad shoulders. She still looked every bit as fine as she had when in her underwear.

Merrill herself did not rush taking her clothes off. There wasn't much to begin with, without her chainmail on. She unbuckled her belt, pulled her green tunic over her head, and pulled off the leather she usually wore over her chainmail like stockings. She patted herself dry with the towel, leaning forward slowly and deliberately. Did it look pretty? Seductive? Her cheeks burned like fire, and her thoughts were filled with nothing but self-consciousness. She was bony, all ribs, small hips, small breasts and spindly legs. There was absolutely nothing to her, compared to the beauty that was Hawke. All she could hope for were base instincts.

When she stood tall again, Merrill looked to Hawke and saw her leaning against the bedpost, bluntly staring. Just like all those weeks ago at their shared dinner, her eyes were clouded with lust. Far less shame this time. Merrill took a deep breath and then put on the robe. It was far too large for Merrill and dragged on the floor, and lent her a femininity she did not usually possess, at least not to this extent.

Hawke sat on the edge of her bed, and then leaned down to pat the floor. "Come, sit here. Let me brush and braid your hair." Her voice sounded a touch husky. Merrill lifted the hem of the too long robe and walked over there, sitting down. Soon, Hawke started to methodically remove the braids, then brushed out Merrill's short hair, gently removing all the knots and tangles before pulling strands together for braids. "I used to do this for my sister, she had this lovely beyond shoulder length hair. Dark like yours." Her hand came to rest on the nape of Merrill's long neck, fingers caressing gently. The tips of Merrill's ears burned like fire, and Hawke's fingers reached out to tenderly touch them, before she leaned down to kiss the tips.

The elf sighed and reached up for Hawke's hand, pulling it to her lips to kiss it. She kissed every finger, every line of Hawke's calloused palm, every knuckle, filled with warmth for the other woman, filled with longing.

Merrill didn't want Hawke to feel that she held her little sister. That was the last thing she would ever want. She sat up on her knees and turned around, placing both hands solidly on the bare skin of Hawke's legs. She felt Hawke's skin quiver under her touch. Her fingers were gliding up further, closer to the hem. "Merrill." It sounded odd, choked, like a warning full of yearning. Like she wanted her to stop, but didn't. Like she rejected the idea but wanted her. Like she wanted to push her away, but wanted to draw her close as well. Merrill wanted her. Merrill wanted Hawke to tremble like a leaf with desire for her. Hawke's conflicted feelings were fuel for her ardor.

Merrill slid a hand on the inside of Hawke's thigh, causing her to moan, and her other hand reached up to pull Hawke's face to her. Their lips collided, first gently, much like their kiss in Lowtown, but soon to be replaced with fire, with hunger, with lust. Merrill parted Hawke's lips effortlessly. She overpowered her senses, her fingers firmly entrenched in Hawke's hair, not letting her withdraw from the kiss. Hawke melted under Merrill's lips, let the elf rise and push her back on the bed, with the other hand still on the inside of her thigh.

The elf nuzzled Hawke breasts through her tunic, before assaulting the supple skin of her throat with light nips and kisses. Every moan, every whisper was more encouragement. As much as Hawke's mind might reject this, as much as her brain clung to the idea of herself with Fenris, her body was waiting to be taken by Merrill. Merrill was ready to take her.

Her hand glided up Hawke's thigh, until there was no where else to go, until Hawke cried out at the contact and threw her head back. Merrill sought to still her, sought her lips for another deep kiss, while her hand touched, felt, understood the levels of Hawke's desire. She curled her fingers.

The next moment she found herself pushed off the bed, lying on the floor face first. Merrill looked up in bewilderment. She heard Hawke's ragged breathing where she lay on the bed. The next moment Hawke was right there on the floor, grabbing her by the shoulders, hovering over her. "What in Maker's name are you playing at, Merrill? What is going on? Why are you tormenting me so? Why do you touch me and kiss me and hug me and drive me bloody crazy?" Her hold on Merrill's shoulders was tight, painful, bruising. "I thought you were my friend. I thought you wanted to help me win the man that I love." Hawke's voice sounded unnerved, unhinged. "I never wanted this, Merrill. I thought you were my best friend. Why do you ruin this for us?"

Merrill's fingers dug into the carpet, and she pressed her forehead against it too, as she tried to collect herself. Hawke didn't let her move. A wave of emotion rolled over the elf, deep and bitter, and honest to the bone. She turned her head to speak over her shoulder. "I am your friend, Hawke. Not your best, but your friend. I didn't do anything you didn't want. You wanted me to hold you and kiss you. You wanted to feel my lips on your skin. You wanted my fingers to touch you, to take you. I felt your desire. I wanted you, but you also wanted me." Hawke's breath was still ragged, and her fingers dug even harder, bringing tears to Merrill's eyes. But she did not cry out in pain. She would not.

"He's never going to love you. He is unable to love. He will never get over the fact that he used to be a slave. It will haunt him for the rest of his life. Even if he were to be with you, he would reject you anyhow. Mark my words. It will happen. In a week, in a month, in a year, he will break your heart and reject you. He is unable to move beyond. He is spiteful, and has an ugly soul. Not like you. He's not beautiful like you. He won't love you. Not like I love you." Merrill closed her eyes in defeat and could not keep stifling her sobs. She buried her face against the carpet. What a horrible realization to come to when all was lost. She was in love with Hawke. How did she ever think she was close to victory over Fenris? This was an even worse defeat than on Sundermount, because for one precious moment, just once, she had felt that she was not lonely, that she knew happiness.

She felt Hawke letting go of her shoulders. She heard the whispered words "The guest room is out in the hall. Bodahn will have finished preparations." Merrill rose without looking at Hawke, picking up her clothes. At the door she turned back. "I am sorry, Hawke." Sorrow and pain looked back at her. They both knew heartache now.

Merrill did not sleep a wink in the guest room. When she left the mansion at dawn, in her own, albeit damp, clothing, it was only one thought that kept her moving on, one thought that gave her any will to fight on. If I cannot have her, Fenris shall not have her either.


	5. Chapter 5

Hawke could not sleep. She could not breathe, she could not rest, she could not close her eyes. So many things, impossible for her to do. Why was her life like this never ending avalanche? She was the snow at the top of a mountain, tipped over the edge and she just kept rolling. Sometimes she could veer in a different direction, preventing direct collision with a lethal rock, but the momentum never stopped.

Nothing ever worked out. Not their life in Ferelden, being safe in Kirkwall, her family being safe and sound, her life being under control and restful. All she wanted was to be happy, to have her friends and family be happy, to love and be loved. She had been a gentle child who was forced to grow up with a weapon in her hands to defend those she loved, and now she was a gentle woman, who was forced to make terrible decisions on a daily basis.

She wasn't sure if she'd just made one of those terrible decisions. Everything about it felt terrible. The look on Merrill's face when she had apologized, standing there by the door, with her wet clothing bundled in her arms, in Bethany's robe that was trailing on the floor. Like a dagger in Hawke's heart. And yet, what had happened had been wrong. They were friends. That's all there was to it. Hawke did not lightly give her heart away to anyone, and she had given it to Fenris first. Neither of them had ever acted on it, but she could not just turn her back on those unresolved feelings. Yet, she had been too harsh to Merrill. She always ended up hurting the other elf in her life.

Hawke was so incredibly fond of her, had been ever since the day she picked her up on Sundermount. She disagreed with her vehemently when it came to what had brought her to Kirkwall and her usage of blood magic. Especially after Bethany's death, Hawke felt the strong urge to protect the dainty mage, keep her safe from herself. She hadn't been able to protect her sister, but she had to keep trying, she had to keep everyone else safe.

She knew things had been strained after she had denied the arulin'holm to Merrill. She had seen the disappointed and hurtful looks Merrill had given her. It was for her own protection she had not given her the tool. It was at the bottom of her rosewood chest, along with Bethany's belongings. In recent weeks, she had considered returning it to Merrill, because it was obvious how much the elf was struggling.

It would not have been right. Hawke had to do what was right. The big picture.

Whenever she closed her eyes, Hawke saw Merrill. Felt Merrill. Heard Merrill. Her laughter, so joyful and carefree. Her rambling speech belied by the sharp intelligence in her eyes. Her touch. She was obviously experienced, was not the innocent flower everyone believed her to be. It had felt so damn good. Hawke still felt like her skin, like her being was on fire, even hours later.

Hawke was anguished and bit back a cry of frustration. She would have to make a decision about Fenris, and it had to be soon. Tomorrow. She would speak to him tomorrow, and then they would see.

* * *

"You have a guest, messere. Serah Fenris. He is waiting in the foyer." Bodahn looked a bit harried standing on the doorsteps of Hawke's library. "We got that girl Orana settled in, with the help of your mother, but she's still terrified. Of everything. I hope she'll get used to things soon. Such a kind thing for you to do, to take her in, like you took us in, me and my boy." He wrung his hands as he talked, a nervous habit.

Hawke smiled reassuringly, even though her heart was beating hard in her chest. "It's fine, Bodahn. I could not just send her away, she seemed so lost. Thank you for taking care of her. Ah...you and Sandal should retire for the night. I'd like to request some privacy now." The dwarf nodded and bowed before leaving, and she heard him and Sandal talk outside, then heard closing doors.

Just her and Fenris now. Fenris. He had run away after the slaver caves, after Hadriana's death. She had left it up to him what he wanted to do, and of course he had killed her. How disconcerting it had been to see him glow, reaching into her chest, crushing her heart inside of her. Afterwards, all there had been was anger, at mages, at the world, at his history.

A nagging thought had been in Hawke's head, whispered in Merrill's voice. He is unable to love. He will never get over the fact he used to be a slave. No. She would not listen to that. She would show him differently. If only he let her. Maybe he would. Hawke's pace quickened as she walked to the foyer, watching him sit with bent head.

He rose from the bench in the foyer when she came to him, and immediately proceeded to talk. She listened to his deep voice, listened to his apology, listened to his explanation of his anger and resentment. At the same time, she kept hearing Merrill's whispers in her head. She was losing her mind.

She was desperate. He turned to leave, full of frustration of his own inability to let go of the anger and hatred. Hawke turned to him and touched his arm. "You don't have to leave Fenris. I'd rather you stay." The lyrium tattoos glowed bright blue as she touched him. He responded in a visceral manner. She heard him growl, and her back hit the wall. The moment he understood what he had done, he let go of her.

It was not what she wanted. It was time she stopped being so passive. She had let Merrill happen to her ( _because I wanted her to_ ) and now it was time to be assertive. She reached for his face, kissed his lips. They felt hard against her, such a contrast to Merrill's yielding, soft lips. She grabbed his shoulders and turned him around, easily. She placed her hands on either side of his head, and kissed him. Hard and hungry, deep and desperate. It didn't feel like her moment with Merrill in Lowtown in the rain. It was the exact opposite of that. It's as it should be. Shouldn't it?

Hawke pinned him against the wall, ensuring his interest. He responded avidly, with deep throaty growls and eager hands. She pulled him upstairs, and all her assertion was pushed aside when he took control of her. His armor, his skin, his face, all jagged edges, unpolished and hard. She let go now. It was what she had wanted. It was right. Hawke always did what was right.

It hurt a bit. He was not gentle. Neither was she. Ultimately, he pleased her and she found contentment. Was that not enough? What if she felt like they had no connection between them just yet? It would grow, in time, now that this step had been taken.

No, it was not enough. When she woke, he turned on her, telling her that he would not be able to stay, because it was too much, too fast, the memories haunting him. Too fast? For months she had pined for him. "Don't go, Fenris, we can work through this together. We can! Let me help you." Desperation crawled into her voice again.

"I can't." He hesitated briefly, and then looked at her, full of self-pity, full of sadness. "I am sorry, I feel like such a fool. All I wanted was to be happy, just for a little while. Forgive me." Fenris turned and left, leaving her behind. _Even if he were to be with you, he would reject you anyhow._

How foolish she had been. Now she was left with nothing. With no one. Hawke curled up into a ball on the bed. Another decision, gone wrong. The avalanche continued, flinging everything aside in her path.

* * *

His lips closed around the glass of the bottle of Aggregio Pavali. It seemed fitting that Fenris would drink Danarius' most prized wine today. A fine wine for a fine occasion. For many months, Fenris had waited for a sign, for a clear indicator that Hawke was interested in him in any form.

He thought he had seen her look at him in a certain way, but he wasn't sure. Then there were all the doubts planted in him by the witch. It was a clear sign to him that she was every bit as bad as the Tevinter mages. The ease with which she found all his worries, all his pains, all his concerns. She read him like a book. The dirty blood mage. He couldn't tell anyone. No one believed him that Merrill was not just a rambling, innocent and mostly adorable elf with a poor sense of judgment. She was worse than that.

What hurt the most was to see how close she was with Hawke. They had gotten ever closer in recent weeks. After Sundermount he had thought that Hawke had put her foot down, that her support of the witch would cease. He was ready to declare his feelings for the woman, but then Merrill came back to their midst, and it all went downhill from there.

He tipped the bottle again, the costly wine gliding down his throat to shoot heat in his stomach. It tasted sour, not like the treasured wine that it was. His eyes burnt. How good it had felt to hold her. How good it had felt to be consumed by their passion. He had looked at her closely, and she seemed withdrawn but eager. How could this be?

He growled when a thought entered his mind. What if she now ran into Merrill's arms? He clearly had rejected her. It was for good reason. It was too much. He was overwhelmed, he simply wasn't ready, wasn't in a state to commit to Hawke like this. But if she went to Merrill, he wouldn't know what he'd do. I'd crush her heart, I would. He wasn't sure which one of the two he meant.

He drank himself into oblivion.

* * *

Merrill admired the workmanship of the carpenters Hawke had sent. She had been true to her word and sent her men to repair the roof. For all the good that did. Her house smelled musty and unpleasant from prolonged exposure to water. Then, so did every house in the alienage, in Lowtown, unless you were lucky like Gamlen and had a house that was elevated.

It could be worse though. She could be in Darktown. She had curiously approached the passageways leading there and had turned back. The stench of sewage was overwhelming. Supposedly some people had drowned in the flood as well, and their corpses were now floating around down there. It was all very sad.

The elf lay on her back on her bed, staring at a fixed patch of roof. No more rain drops to wake her up in the middle of the night, dripping on her nose. Such luxury. She shifted her weight, and winced. Her shoulders were bruised, five finger print sized bruises on each shoulder. It was a reminder of the pain of that day, a pain that would not go away.

And yet, she had never felt so alive.

She had been to the Hanged Man the previous day, and Varric told her the story of how they had killed Hadriana in a slaver cave on the coast. It was the first time in ages that Hawke hadn't asked her to come along. It was over. She had messed things up. The coast was clear for Fenris now. Things had been easier before she had stupidly developed feelings for Hawke, feelings that would not go away.

She heard a knock on her door and rose, walking on damp floorboards with her bare feet. A messenger boy was by the door, handing her a note. It had Hawke's seal. Merrill bit her bottom lip then quickly broke the seal, unbelieving eyes reading the words Hawke had sent her.

 _You were so right. I should not have pushed you away like I did. I was trying to do the right thing, and misjudged. I miss you. Forgive me? If you do, come find me at the mansion. Dinner's on me. - Hawke_

Merrill felt ready to cry. She smiled all over her face. Hawke missed her. Hawke apologized and asked her to come back. She felt ready to burst with joy.

And yet...there was this part in her head that considered, calculatingly. Something must have happened with Fenris. Or what else could this 'You were so right' allude to?

It was almost like there were two Merrills. The first Merrill was overjoyed and happy, and only too eager to get to Hightown. The other Merrill carefully resealed Hawke's letter with some candle wax and the controlled use of a fire spell. Just a little trickle of heat. Fenris would not be able to tell. Besides, he would not be the one to break the seal, as he would need the messenger to read the message to him. She would have to find a messenger in Hightown to deliver the note straight to him. It was a gamble. If he showed up while Merrill and Hawke reunited, she would truly have won.

* * *

Fenris stared at the shards of the bottle of wine. As so often, he had smashed it into the wall once it was empty, in anger and resentment, of Danarius, his life, himself. This afternoon he stared at them, inhaled the sour scent of wine stains on the floor, felt little shards cut the bare soles of his feet. His life was a mess, because he kept destroying good things, perfect things, like this shapely bottle of excellent wine, or the future he could have had with Hawke. If only he hadn't been so scared of his emotions, scared of admitting weakness. Would he ever learn not to be a slave? He felt the imaginary collar tight on him as always, constricting his every breath and thought.

His destructive musings were interrupted by a loud knock on the front door. Fenris reached for his sword and slowly moved downstairs. He did not usually have visitors unless he specifically invited someone. Today, he had not invited anyone. On his way downstairs, he stepped into another shard, making him leave bloody footprints.

It was a messenger. When Fenris opened the door with drawn sword, he looked like he was about to wet himself. He stuttered, scared of the taller elf. "I...I h-have a message for Serah F-Fenris?" The whites in his eyes stood out starkly. He was no older than 12. He held the message up and Fenris saw the seal that Hawke used on her clothing and her manor gates. The elf frowned and then impatiently indicated himself.

"I am Fenris. Make it quick. Read." He snarled the words, bitterness washing over him that he could not read the message himself. He was a slave. Had been a slave. He knew not to read. He had been hiding this from everyone else, but somehow Merrill had found out. She liked to hold up books and notes and tomes they found on their errands, holding them out for the others to read, proffering them at him as if he was literate like the others. As if he wasn't a Tevinter slave whose only purpose had been to serve in menial labor.

The boy stumbled through the words, in his hurry to read them. Fenris let the words wash over him. You were so right. Yes, it had been too much, too fast. I should not have pushed you away like I did. She knew she should have given him time. I miss you. Forgive me? Forgive her? She should have to forgive him. His heart filled with hope. Maybe the shards of his life could be swept up. There was hope.

He glowered at the boy, but not before pressing a few coins in his hand. The messenger dashed away in great hurry. Fenris decided to go tend to the cuts on his feet and then prepare for his visit. For once he felt no anger but hope.

* * *

Hawke was anxious. The message had cost her a lot of courage, and many hours of deliberation. Was it the right decision to make? Right for herself. Her mother had chided her for being restless, telling her to stop pacing so much or she would wear out the costly rugs in the sitting room. She had smiled apologetically, like a good girl, then sat down at her writing desk.

The message was short and to the point. Honest. She had fallen in love with Merrill, her feelings for Fenris were just on the surface, and not as deep as her connection with the mage. As much as she liked him, there would always be a barrier between them, one that seemed impenetrable. She had tried, and failed, and hurt a good woman in the process.

Orana cleared her throat from the door. "Messere, dinner is prepared. Your mother isn't feeling well, so will not dine with you tonight. Your servants shall retire, as requested." The former slave looked scared and intimidated. It would take time until she fully realized that she was no longer a slave. For a moment Hawke felt overwhelmingly sad. The Tevinter magisters clearly broke their slaves, stripping any sense of their own identity away from them. She vowed to never stop trying to help them regain themselves, be it Orana or Fenris, or any other former Tevinter slave. Everyone deserved a chance.

Hawke's anxiety returned. Would Merrill even come? Or was she so bitter about their falling out that she would not wish to reconcile? She started pacing again, waiting. Her mother would scold her, but she was too restless to remain seated.

When Merrill finally stumbled her way into the sitting room, the elf's cheeks were flushed as if she had hurried here. She held a single, long-stemmed rose in her hands. "I am sorry. I am late, am I not? I hope I did not keep you waiting. I had...an adventurous time in Hightown. I tried to find the perfect flower for you. Did you know that you are not the only noble with a mabari? The Derons also have one. Guarding their gardens. So many pretty gardens in Hightown, but not as nice as yours. Uh, I had to flee from guards, I hope they won't trace me here." Her words were a torrent, a rambling wave of words to cover her own anxiety, Hawke was sure.

Hawke closed the distance between them. "It's alright, Merrill," she breathed. "I am so glad you came." She took the offered rose and then put it down on a table, before turning back to Merrill. "I was such a fool, Merrill. Forgiven me yet?" The elf laughed and threw her arms around Hawke's neck. It was the most natural thing in the world to lean down to her and kiss her.

* * *

Merrill felt herself wrapped in Hawke's strong arms. She was incandescent with warmth and joy. So this was what it felt like to be in love. This warm wave of emotion that she had felt when Hawke stood there in the middle of the room, her whole being lit like a bright candle when Merrill came in, joy and relief washing over her open features. Hawke carried all her feelings like an open book to read. What Merrill once found worthy of nothing but disdain, she now felt touching and heartwarming. Lovable.

She broke their kiss, gently nuzzling Hawke's nose. Merrill gently pushed her backwards to be seated in one of the armchairs of the sitting room. "Let me show you how much I have forgiven you. How much I love you, Hawke. Ma vhenan." She disrobed Hawke's top, opening the belt, then started kissing her, beginning at her throat, descending slowly. Hawke was nothing but responsive, shifting eagerly underneath her touch.

 _I hope he won't come. It's not necessary. She loves me._ Merrill pushed up the hem of Hawke's skirt and kissed tremulous thighs, her smile never leaving her lips.

* * *

Fenris was surprised to find the foyer empty of everyone but the mabari. The dog sniffed him, but was familiar with his scent. He simply went back to sleep. The mansion seemed dark and silent to him. He peered into open doorways, pressed his ear against closed doors. He vaguely recalled that Hawke had a sitting room upstairs where she would entertain visitors or simply sit and read.

His palms were sweaty. On his way here he had wrecked his brain to find the right words to say, how he would explain that he was merely the product of his previous life, and that he was sorry about being so difficult to handle. It sounded weak and lame in his head, but it would have to do.

He hesitated by the door to the sitting room. He froze, his hand inches from the doorknob. Fenris heard Hawke. She sounded like she was in pain. Was she crying? Had he waited too long? With renewed energy he turned the door knob, pushing open the door. His gaze locked on Hawke, covering her eyes with an arm thrown over them, the other holding on to the armchair she was seated in for dear life. She moaned again, the same sound he had heard outside. His legs turned to water when he saw who kneeled before Hawke. Of course. Merrill lifted her head away from Hawke. She smiled, her eyes gleaming possessively. She licked her lips, like a cat that had just lapped up milk. How she smiled. He felt himself glow, the lyrium forced beneath his skin burning like fire, raging through him, filling his being with strong waves of pain. He wanted to scream.

* * *

Why did she stop? How could she stop? Hawke had never felt anything like these sensations before. Stars were blinking in and out of existence, bright pinpoints of light, the more she squeezed her eyes shut.

She let her arm fall, reaching for Merrill's hair. In the corner of her eye she saw blue light. Hawke gasped and sat upright, pushing the chair back with her feet. Fenris looked like a god come down to smite them. His eyes were full of rage and downright aggression. "Look at you two. Bitches in heat. Cruel and mocking. You are no different from my former master. You ridicule me. You request my presence, knowing what I would find." His voice was deeper, full of resentment. Just like he had sounded when he spoke to Hadriana. Maybe even more hurt.

"W-What request?" Hawke couldn't help but ask. Having him find them like this was the last thing she wanted. She looked down at Merrill who still kneeled and was taken aback by the smile on Merrill's face. She smiled, and like Fenris had said, her gaze was full of ridicule. She stared at him, her hands still resting on the sides of the armchair.

"You sent me a note. Dinner's on you. Dinner." Fenris balled his hand into a fist. When Merrill started to giggle, he turned on her and Hawke's heart filled with dread. Oh Merrill.

* * *

She couldn't help it, she had to giggle. Wasn't it funny? He had come for dinner, but it was Merrill who had already eaten it. Her. Merrill felt herself flush, and giggle. She had to press a hand over her mouth to stifle them.

She was losing her mind. Merrill shouldn't be enjoying his hatred so much, his absolute devastation. Any moment now he would reach her and kill her, with this strange power of his, reaching inside to crush her guts, twist her heart, end her. The hateful part of her was gloating, about the ultimate triumph and betrayal she had executed.

The part of her that was just a lonely girl in love was weeping in her head. Hawke came between them, blocking his path. "You know I would never do such a thing, Fenris. I would not have requested you here. I might be foolish, but I am not cruel. How foolish I am." She looked down at Merrill, with despair on her face. The elf was no longer smiling. Game over.

* * *

He believed her. Deep inside he knew that it was Merrill who had set this all up. It didn't change that mere days after they had consummated their love, mere days after he left her, Hawke had already found pleasure with another. From the looks and sounds of it, more pleasure than he had given her.

The power went out of him, and the lyrium glow dissipated. Much like his hope and happiness had dissipated the moment he had opened the door.

Wordlessly he turned to go, never looking back.

* * *

Hawke wanted to cry. She wanted to grab Merrill and shake her again, for all the good that would do. "How long have you worked on this? How long have you used me for a tool? You hate him, don't you? Do you hate me too?"

Merrill reached out, her hands circling Hawke's wrist, holding on. "I don't hate you, no no no. You must not think that. I love you, Hawke. I meant every word I said." She closed her eyes, her nails digging into Hawke's skin. "When I had nothing left in my life, all I could see was that hurting Fenris would make me feel better. I had lost my clan, lost Marethari's love, lost your friendship. Lost the chance of ever restoring the eluvian when he made you not give me the arulin'holm." She opened her eyes, looking wounded, tears spilling from long lashes. "Seeing him pay for my very own pain was the only thing that has kept me going since Sundermount. Until I fell in love with you."

It wasn't enough. Hawke shook her head at so much ignorance and ill-guided love. She pulled her hands free from Merrill's grasp. "You are obsessed, Merrill. Insane and driven. I cannot believe a single word you ever told me, after this betrayal. Go. This, I cannot forgive you. You have wronged the people in your life. Go, Merrill. Go back to Sundermount. Settle back into your clan. Be your Keeper's First." She turned her back on the elf, unable to stand the pain on her face any longer. It just made her heart bleed more than it already did. "Or go rot in your house in the alienage, trying to fix something of absolutely no significance to anyone but you."

With determination she headed into her bedroom, and returned, moments later. "Here, Merrill. Have your arulin'holm. Destroy yourself with your work. Don't destroy us others anymore." She dropped the bundle at her feet and then left the room, unable to bear Merrill's presence any longer.

* * *

 _I lost her, forever. Having the arulin'holm means nothing to me. Fen'harel, take me._

 _I lost her, forever. Curse feelings, and all the associated weakness. I will live for finding and killing Danarius. I will set myself truly free._

 _I lost her, forever. Why did I not see earlier and saved her from this path of destruction she was on? Why did I not see her pain? Now it's too late. But I will always worry for her. Maker, give me strength._


	6. Chapter 6

"This better not be a waste of my time, Varric. Merrill is a ditz, but I really can't imagine she would be clambering around on boats. That's me, you know." Isabela sighed wistfully and looked around the quays of the Kirkwall docks. It was a bright day, and there was a constant hustle and bustle as ships were loaded and unloaded. Her eyes burned brightly as she looked at a four-masted schooner lying at anchor, sails unfurled. "Ah, look at that beauty." She licked her lips, as if she was studying her next lover. Until Varric's elbow collided with her midsection. "Ouch, you little midget, what was that for?" She said this with great fondness, despite her stinging side.

Varric did not seem at ease. "I hate the stench of rotten fish here. I know you relish it, Rivaini, but I'd rather lounge in my suite, counting money. My contacts don't lie, they clearly stated that Merrill was found aboard the 'Duchess of Rialto'. At least it could have been worse, she could have been caught on an Orlesian ship, which would have been a lot more troublesome. The Antivans won't bother her...much." He pointed over to where the Antivan brig was moored.

About ten minutes later, after an exchange of sovereigns, a dejected looking Merrill was trotting between the two, each arm held by one of her companions. "Okay, Daisy, we'll find a nice quiet corner to sit, clear any thugs out of it and then you will tell us what you were doing climbing the rigging of an Antivan trading brig. You could have broken your neck, or they could have run you through for trying to steal from them." Varric chided her gently, but the elf's head still sank, with a sigh.

"There, no one's here. Come, kitten, sit with us." Isabela sat on the edge of a quay where no ship was anchored, for the moment. Her feet dangled, and she inhaled the briny air. She patted the ground, and Merrill slowly lowered herself. Varric sat on her other side. Isabela and the dwarf exchanged a concerned glance. Merrill looked like she hadn't slept in days, dark circles underneath her large green eyes. The pirate could not recall ever having seen her more unhappy than this.

Varric reached into an inside pocket of his leather duster and then proffered a pocket flask at Merrill. "Have a sip of rum. You could use some color in your cheeks, Daisy. Have a drink, and relax. You're in good hands."

The elf surprised both of them by having a long swig of rum and then bursting into tears, cradling her face in both hands as large sobs made her dainty frame shake. Isabela put her arm around Merrill, making soothing sounds. "It's okay, kitten. I certainly don't blame you for exploring a ship like that. We're not mad at you."

Merrill cried for a couple more minutes, and then drank more rum. She wiped her eyes on a sleeve of her green tunic. "It's not about the ship that I am crying. Have you ever...have you ever done something so stupid, so colossally stupid that you are so overwhelmed by it, that you really do not know how to ever fix it?" She turned her head to look at first Isabela, then Varric.

Isabela bit her bottom lip and looked rather uncomfortable, as if whatever Merrill had just mentioned was too close to home. "I might have. What if?"

Varric merely shrugged his shoulders. "Don't we all do things like that as we move through life? Don't we move on and learn? I try to." He looked over his shoulder, at Bianca, and went silent.

The elf shook her head, tears still spilling from her expressive eyes. "I have done more stupid things than any person should be allowed to. If I tell you what I did, you will despise me like the rest. You are the only friends I have, so I can't even tell you. I can't."

Isabela tilted her head at Merrill. "What about Hawke? You guys are friends."

"Not anymore. She told me to go rot in the alienage. I...don't think I'll see her again. I don't think I will travel with you anymore." Merrill's chin sank to her chest as she blindly stared at small waves splashing against the quay.

"That doesn't sound like Hawke," Varric added, puzzled. "There must be more to this, Daisy. Still, I daresay there is no stupidity that you cannot recover from. It just might take time. Maybe your friends can help you with fixing it. I have a lot of imagination." The dwarf chuckled.

Merrill let out a long sigh, and then in a very monotonous voice stated "I prayed to Elgar'nan to grant me revenge. I felt Fenris and Hawke robbed me of my future, my people's future, when they denied me the use of the arulin'holm to fix my mirror. I was tired and aching of all the insults he bestowed on me as long as I have known him. I knew they were falling in love and so I decided that this would not be."

The elf's hands were resting on her legs, the nails digging deeply into the leather. "I took up a friendship with Hawke and filled both their heads with doubts, trepidation, outright lies. I first wanted to ask you to seduce her for me, Isabela, but then decided you would despise me for it, and I would not be able to bear it. So I took matters in my own hands."

She hesitated briefly, then went on. Too late to turn back from revealing the truth. "The more time we spent, the closer we got, and the more I lost my original purpose. I fell in love with her. That's when I should have ended this travesty, these lies. But I didn't. I was still childishly craving my revenge. I sent him an invitation that Hawke had sent me, and he falsely assumed it was for him. I did this with the express purpose of having him catch us in an intimate moment. He did."

She laughed hysterically. "You know what revenge tastes like? I thought it would be sweet and glorious. It was sweet and glorious for all of a second when I looked in his face. But then it tasted nothing but foul, putrid, rancid. There was no sweetness left. Now I have the one thing that I thought I wanted more than anything in life, and I humiliated and degraded my greatest enemy. Only to find out that the thing I wanted is nothing, that I lost the thing I really wanted more than anything, and that my greatest enemy is myself."

Merrill stared across the docks to where the tall Antivan brig still lay anchored. "I wanted to climb the rigging, get to the top, feel free from myself and all pain for one glorious moment, and then drown." She turned her head to look at Isabela oddly. "I cannot swim."

Before either Varric or Isabela were able to say a word, Merrill had pushed herself off the quay, sinking like a rock wearing her chainmail.

* * *

"I am so bloody pissed at you, you have no idea, Merrill." The elf's teeth were chattering as she listened to Isabela curse bloody murder at her. "How dare you make me jump in the water like that? Do you know how long it takes for leather to dry? And your towels are nothing but rags not even worthy of mopping the floor with them." Isabela stomped through Merrill's house with anger in her steps while the elf lay thickly wrapped in blankets in her bed, her wet clothing unceremoniously dumped on the floor.

Unlike Merrill, Isabela swam very well, and had dragged Merrill out of the water quickly. Varric and Isabela had then taken the elf back to her house in the alienage. The dwarf had disappeared to get a warm meal for all of them. It was just the two women now. Isabela carried a chair over to Merrill's bed and then sat down with a sigh, removing her damp bandana to let her hair dry out.

Reaching out to take one of Merrill's hand, Isabela looked at the elf unhappily. "Promise me you won't do that again, kitten. I understand you're upset and maybe desperate. You pulled a number on all of us, didn't you? No one would ever have thought you had it in you, Merrill." She smiled thinly. "Now live with it. Deal with it. You know you were wrong. Don't rush it. You are such a smart girl, and I know that you have a good heart. I just know it. Me, I have stolen and betrayed, lied and pillaged, had people place trust in me when I am not trustworthy. I have done worse things than you have, believe it or not."

Merrill listened without letting go of Isabela's hand, using it as her anchor. Her blankets were pulled up to her chin. She coughed, and it still hurt, from all the water she had swallowed.

"I am not saying you did anything noble or good when you screwed with both Fenris and Hawke." Isabela made a face. "Well, not literally, I mean. I hope. That would be sick, kitten." The pirate's attempt at a joke fell flat. "I can't give you any real advice, Merrill. I am hopeless with feelings. When feelings come into play, things get fucked up. If you were still angry at either of them, you wouldn't be looking like a drowned rat now." Isabela brushed a damp strand of hair from Merrill's chilled face.

"The first step is to accept that you did something that was very wrong. I think you already took that step. The next step is to understand why you did it. Then the next step will be..." Isabela narrowed her gaze and looked into the distance "Coming to terms with yourself. Here you either forgive yourself and rise above it, taking time to make amends, or you sort out for yourself that there are no amends to make. But that's up to you, isn't it? I think I know you well enough to understand what you will try to do."

Isabela's hold on her hand tightened, like a vise. "What you should not do is to take the easy way out. Don't be a coward. Stand up for what you've done. Give yourself time. It might take years. Don't run like you did." Her words had heat, conviction, and yet, she looked so scared.

"Will you be here for me, Isabela? I can't stand being on my own. If only I had told you about how I felt, you would have stopped me from pursuing revenge. Or you would have tripped Fenris for me to make me laugh." Merrill had a fresh wave of tears coming on. "You wouldn't have let me break Hawke like I did. I will never forget the way she looked at me when she understood that it was all my doing."

Isabela lightly kissed Merrill's forehead. "I'm here for you. I'll be here. At least for now. I cannot promise you that I will stay in Kirkwall forever, but as long as I am here, I will always be there for you. And when I am not, Varric will take care of you. But that's nothing to worry about right now. I'll get you back up on your feet. If you ever want to sail with me, I'll have to teach you how to swim."

She winked at Merrill cockily, and told the elf tales from her days at sea, the kind of tall tale only Isabela or Varric were able to pull off.

It put Merrill at ease, it made her feel as if maybe one fine day, she would ease her way back into normality, instead of this unceasing existence full of guilt and remorse.

* * *

Merrill started keeping a diary of sorts. It started out as a description of how Merrill saw herself and then comparing it to how she really acted.

Wants to be: kind, caring. Wise, scholarly. Reliable. Trustworthy.

Currently is: cruel, vengeful. Foolish. Driven to the point of obsession. Selfish. Untrustworthy.

Instead of spending her time working on the eluvian, she wrote her diary, picking a trait every week, and focusing on it. She wanted to be kind, and so she spent a week being kind to strangers, and to her friends. She tried to cook a stew for Isabela and Varric. It wasn't half bad. Her friends ate it with relish. She made a chain of flowers for the ever stern Aveline and presented her with it in her office in the Viscount's Keep. She put it on, and when guardsman Donnic complimented her on it, Aveline blushed deeply, filling Merrill's heart with warmth.

The next time Merrill got lost in Darktown, she picked up a malnourished kitten she found in an alley and brought it to Anders. He seemed to find some peace from it, at least the real Anders, not the spirit inside of him. She even went to the Chantry to visit Sebastian, and humored him by humming along to the Chant of Light. He seemed convinced she would be converting to the Maker's faith any day now.

Fenris and Hawke she dared not approach. Sometimes she snuck into Hightown in the middle of the night, and placed flowers on their doorsteps, before she fled back to Lowtown just as quickly. It was the only gesture she could think of. Maybe later, she would be able to think of something else, but for now that would have to do.

On other days she wrote a history of the Dalish as she knew it. It was far more satisfying than staring at the eluvian for days. Maybe one fine day, the work of Merrill would be found in libraries across Thedas, a reference work on Elvhenan and the Dalish. At least in writing, she could detail the glories of Elvhenan. No one knew how proud she was to be a Dalish, and how much she loved her people. Least of all her own people and Marethari. But she did.

It still hurt, the knowledge and the memories that she had betrayed Hawke the way she had. It had been entirely unnecessary, absolutely uncalled for. Merrill longed for her and missed her, but she got used to being on her own, and finding her peace.

The first couple weeks had been terrible, because the rejection had been so harsh. She did not want to go back to Sundermount with empty hands, admitting defeat, she was still too proud for that. She also did not want to rot and work on the eluvian anymore. Not at this time, while she was still working on herself. The arulin'holm lay wrapped and forgotten under her bed.

Sometimes she felt like a caterpillar, wrapped in a cocoon of hatred and ignorance, breaking her shell to evolve. She shed her skin, and lost all the weight that dragged her down. She shed her skin, and all the scars she had hidden so carefully from all the others began to disappear, one by one, week by week, month by month. One fine day she might be a beautiful butterfly, unblemished, free to fly.

* * *

Merrill pressed herself against the side of Hawke Estate. She did not want to hang around the entrance, because she knew Fenris was inside. She was not ready to see him, and without anyone to protect her, she would probably be risking her life. Still, she had to be here.

Varric had been in his cups when she visited him at the Hanged Man, which was an unusual occurrence. It took much to shake him up, but he was pale, and drinking. It had taken her a while to coax the story from him, how they had found Quentin, and all that remained of Leandra Amell.

Was it foolish of her to go seek out Hawke on the day that a crazed blood mage had murdered Hawke's mother? Very likely. Yet, Merrill's heart was aching for Hawke. She had liked Leandra who had always been more than kind to her. No one deserved such a fate as she had received at the hand of a blood mage. Hawke was all alone now, the only family member left alive. She couldn't imagine how it hurt.

Sometimes she wondered if her hate and need for vengeance that had spiralled out of control would have made her use blood magic in the filthy, desperate way that so many mages they had hunted down over the years fell prey to. Merrill liked to think that she would never be like this, but she knew she was fooling herself. Anyone who was weak and desperate could fall victim. She had to be strong and in control of her life. Balanced. Balance was important.

She pressed her face against the cold stone wall when she heard the door slam closed. She peeked around the corner and saw Fenris, leaving. His head was lowered and he was coiled tight like a spring. He had not been inside for a long at all. Merrill swallowed nervously. If his visit went badly, how would hers go?

Courage, Merrill. You can't not try.

It seemed cold inside, and gloomy. Bodahn looked close to tears when he bid her come inside. There was no sign of Hawke, but Aveline was in the foyer. She must have arrived before Fenris did, clad in her full guard-captain's regalia, a stern guard of the staircase. She was now the closest to family that Hawke had left, having been with her longer than anyone else.

"You. Here. Are you sure that's a good idea?" Aveline crossed her arms in front of her chest and looked at Merrill more sternly than she had when the guards caught her in the Viscount's garden. She always seemed kind enough when Merrill randomly visited her these days, but not tonight.

The old Merrill would have been defiant and insistent. The new Merrill merely shook her head. "I am sure it's a terrible idea, Aveline, but if I don't express my condolences, I feel I am doing her a disservice. Both her and Leandra. I liked her. I will miss her. My heart is filled with sorrow, for all our loss tonight."

She turned her head, looking at the fireplace. "I don't remember my own mother well. I was a very young child when I was given to the Sabrae to be the Keeper's First. I remember her voice, because she sang to me. I don't remember much else. Maybe...maybe at the next arlathvhen." Merrill shook her head gently.

Aveline nodded her head, and for a moment had a flicker of a sympathetic smile on her lips. "It is kind of you, Merrill. I am here to spare her further pain, and I do not know that her seeing you would spare her pain. You are a blood mage." Merrill's nails painfully dug into the skin of her palms. There was no scab on her palm right now, because she had not used her blood magic much recently, but there were scars. "Furthermore, you are a blood mage who has betrayed her trust and broken her heart."

Merrill's heart sank. She had not known that Hawke had told anyone else. "Of course. I know. I haven't seen her since. I tried to keep my distance. I don't deserve her forgiveness. All I wanted is to express my condolences." She felt like her limbs were made of lead when she turned sideways, as if to leave. "Will you speak to her for me? I don't want her to think that in the face of her suffering I am uncaring. I care."

"I see that, Merrill." Aveline exhaled slowly. "She is not ready to see you, that much I am sure of. But I will let her know." She narrowed the gaze of her sharp, green eyes, so different from Merrill's own. "What made you do it? I never took you for a liar, Merrill. I never took you for someone who would betray and laugh. Have you fooled us all so many years?"

"I fooled only myself, into thinking that the eluvian and my feelings were more important than anyone else's. I was petulant and cruel. I am trying to make amends. I will likely never receive her forgiveness, but I must still try not to be the same kind of person." Merrill piercingly looked at Aveline. "I remember a day that you called me stupid, for trying to recreate old glory instead of living in the current time. I bristled with resentment for you. I was so angry. I felt you all mocked me." She now bowed to Aveline. "Ma serannas, lethallan. You were very right. I see that now."

Aveline looked pained and then nodded her head. "A little late, Merrill. Maybe too late. I...hate seeing Hawke as lonely and distrustful as she is now. You really hurt her. But maybe...keep working at it. I don't mean to fill your head with hope and foolishness, yet maybe you will eventually be able to find your peace, the two of you."

Merrill nodded her head. "I appreciate your kindness, Aveline. You are...like a mountain cat that I once saw, protecting her cubs. You protect your guards, and you protect Hawke. Keep her safe, where I cannot." Her eyes stung. "I will grow further. I look back on my friendship with Hawke, and now know that I have never been happier than having her friendship and love. I shall forever cherish the memory." She pressed her lips together. "I ramble. I am sorry. I should have kept it brief. Give her my regards, in whatever veiled manner as is necessary. Dareth shiral."

* * *

Aveline turned towards the stairs when she heard the front door fall shut. She looked upstairs, waiting, with one hand on the banister. She waited patiently, like a watchdog, squinting up into the gloom. Eventually a figure stepped forward, to put both hands on the railing in the upper hallway.

Hawke looked down at Aveline with burning eyes when the guard captain spoke up. "I felt you standing up there for a while. You heard."

"I did."

"And?" Aveline's arched brows touched her headband, curious to hear the response.

"You do not seriously believe I can deal with that, on top of everything else, Aveline. Do you? Because I do not know how." Hawke's hand on the railing were white-knuckled. "Thank you for sending her away."

Aveline sternly nodded, then looked away. "She sounded genuine. Maybe she is changing." The guard captain did not know why she defended the elf so. Maybe because Varric had told her that Merrill had tried drowning herself twice, months ago.

"Maybe she is. I just can't deal with her. Not right now. Maybe not ever. I do appreciate her condolences, it was sincere. Mother was fond of her." Hawke's voice broke. "More sincere than Fenris, who had nothing to give. Sod it all. I am done for tonight. I want to sleep for a week." She sounded broken, truly.

Aveline watched her go and sighed softly, then sat at the foot of the stairs. She would sit and wait, and guard, in silent vigilance.

* * *

"She will come back." Everyone was gathered at the Hanged Man, raging about Isabela's flight with the Tome of Koslun. Aveline insisted that Hawke seek out the Arishok with her immediately. War lay in the air, a mere spark needed to cause a raging wildfire. Everyone turned to look at Merrill, even Hawke and Fenris.

Fenris' face was full of contempt, which she justly deserved. Hawke's face was a blank mask. "What makes you say that?"

Merrill held on to the edge of the table, as she carefully spoke her words. "She told me that you should not take the easy way out. That you should never be a coward. That you should stand up for your actions. That you shouldn't run. I refuse to believe that she would. She will return, with the relic. It was not just empty advice that she gave me." She bit her bottom lip. "She knew and she told me she will come back. I know it."

She did not know what she would do if her friend were never to return.


	7. Chapter 7

_Forgive me my mistakes,  
I'm only human,  
I bleed just like you,  
From time to time,  
So why can't I convince you,  
I'll be fine?_  
\- Human, Assemblage 23

* * *

Of course she had been right. Isabela had come back, just like Merrill had predicted. When Isabela had entered the throne room, stepping over corpses, Merrill had been sure that this was the first time in many months that she had felt any kind of genuine joy. Isabela had not run, and her words had been honest. Overcome with emotion, Merrill had smiled at her friend. "I am so happy you are back, Isabela. Everything will be alright now!"

Isabela had done the right thing. And then Hawke did the right thing and defended her, protected her from the Arishok.

When Isabela decided to leave again, unable to deal with the aftermath of the Qunari mess, she at least said farewell instead of just running off. It was something.  


* * *

With Isabela gone from Kirkwall, Merrill began to withdraw to her shell again. She still worked on her history of Elvhenan, but it no longer seemed enough. Some nights Merrill kneeled outside, before the vhenedahl, feeling the bark underneath her hands. Sometimes the hahren of the small alienage of Kirkwall asked her to recite stories, as if she was a real Keeper, not just a First in training who had not been with her clan for several years now. When the people sat around the tree, listening to her, she felt an intense longing to return to her people.

She would just give up her blood magic, forget about the eluvian, and settle back in. She would forget about Mahariel, Tamlen, and the potential of the mirror. She would travel in an aravel from one camping site to another, always roaming, never resting, and relinquish any claim to greatness. In a world of shemlen, the Dalish were destined to travel like beggars and never to find significance again.

No. That would not do. They all deserved better. Master Ilen, craftsman without compare. The valiant hunters of her clan, like Fenarel. The lorekeepers, the mothers, the children. Sons and daughters of the Dalish. Keeper Marethari. It cut her heart into tiny pieces that not a single one of them believed in her, but she believed in them.

A year after Isabela's departure, Merrill reached under her bed and unwrapped the arulin'holm. On the large scale of things, her work on the eluvian was the most important thing she had ever done, and could do for her people. She gave it up for Hawke, for a time, but time did not mend all wounds, and she had lost her for good. If she had come back to her, accepted her letters asking for forgiveness, if she had given any sign, it might be different. But she had not, and Merrill's life had to go on.

Isabela's absence left such a void in her that she felt returning to her work was the only thing that would possibly keep her going. It was time to return to her clan, one way or another.  


* * *

When word came through that Isabela had returned, it was like the weight of the world was lifted from Hawke's shoulders. Often, she had wondered if she'd even done the right thing, fighting a duel that had seen her on the brink of death, for someone who had betrayed her, had betrayed all of them. It was one of those terrible decisions she had to make so often, the ones that were eating her alive.

In truth, she had spent less than a second thinking about it. There was no question. None of her friends, none of her family would come to harm in her care. She lived by Aveline's words. The guard was her best friend because they both had the same gut instincts. Protect what matters with everything you have, or you'll have nothing and deserve it. Isabela mattered. All of them mattered.

Even Merrill. It was good that Isabela had returned, someone else to look out for the elf. Hawke hadn't really done a good job of it. She had financially supported Varric's endeavors at keeping the girl fed and safe, but she was utterly incapable of approaching her. Her heart was an open sore, it would just burst open again.

When Hawke entered the Hanged Man, she found Isabela by the bar as usual. Upon her return, there had been a few awkward moments, but once the two of them were at ease, Isabela casually offered that she'd stick it out for now. They had eased into a light friendship. Light, because often Hawke was convinced Isabela found her to be a stick in the mud, a boring old fart, not on her level of excitement. It was fine. They could still be friends.

Today, Isabela looked unusually solemn when Hawke approached her. She worried at the stud underneath her lip with her tongue on the inside of her mouth, moving it from side to side. Hawke could have sworn she was nervous. Isabela, nervous? She grasped the edge of the bar, expecting the worst. "You had asked to see me, Isabela?"

"Yes, Hawke. Thanks for coming" The pirate pursed her lips for a moment, then pushed forward. "I don't want to beat around the bush. Merrill would like to see you. In private. Whenever it suits you."

"Never." It burst forth from Hawke's lips unthinkingly.

Isabela glared and slammed her cup of rum down on the bar. "Andraste's teats, will you bloody give it a rest? It's been years and you still refuse to see her? This stupid emotional crap. You two are the perfect example that you should never let feelings come into the mix. She needs you, Hawke. It's as simple as that. Kitten needs you. She's repented. I know she's sent apologies to both you and Fenris. Can you not fucking forgive her and move on?"

Hawke pushed a hand against the bar, leaning heavily against it. Her hair fell into her eyes as she stared at every line in the cheap wood of the bar. You could see every spot where woodworms had eaten through the wood. Rough and worn out, just like her heart still felt when she thought about Merrill. "I...I thought that one day I would be ready. But then I think about it and I don't think I'll ever be ready. She betrayed me, she used me, only because I looked out for her. She ruined what I could have had with Fenris, and...made me care for her, and ruined that too."

"What could you have had with Fenris?" Isabela snorted. "I won't lie to you, sometimes I go see him, and we have a bit of fun. Once, he was really drunk, and he told me that he threw you away because he understood he wasn't ready for a relationship. Even if she hadn't done anything, do you really think it would have been different? Would she have been able to make you care this much if you and Fenris were to be?" She spit in the sawdust on the floor. "This talk leaves such a bad taste in my mouth. Why must I be the one to talk to you?" She angrily downed more rum.

"Still, she betrayed me, and she lied to me. How could I ever trust her?" Hawke looked at Isabela accusingly.

The pirate leaned forward, her nose almost touching Hawke's. "I am a liar, a cheat, a thief. I caused a devastating war in Kirkwall. My actions cost the city its viscount, the viscount's son, and many innocent citizens' lives. The Qunari were here because I was a greedy, cheating liar. I betrayed you. I lied to you. How could you ever trust me? How can you even stand to talk to me, Hawke? You who always does the right thing. Didn't you mention this time and again, how that's so important for you? Explain that to me. How you can talk to me, but not talk to her."

Hawke tried to think of a clever comeback, or even an angry one. Isabela's face was still so close, with anger and worry both in her eyes. "I...can't explain that."

The Rivaini leaned back and nodded. "Go see her. When you see her, you will understand she needs help."  


* * *

Hawke leaned her head against the door, her hand resting on the doorknob. She could not believe she was back, here, in Kirkwall's alienage of all places. It had been years. How many? Almost four years. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed with emotion. The last time she had been here had been the day of the rain.

She could not linger on the memories. Four years, and it still made her heart break. Almost four years of completely avoiding each other. Sure, they would run into each other in the Hanged Man, for their monthly meetings. Even as Champion of Kirkwall, Hawke made sure to always attend those. Those people, they were her family now. They and Gamlen Amell were all she had. Merrill did not come to every meeting, especially not after Isabela had left. Hawke never questioned her absence, though some nights she lay in bed and could not sleep, worrying.

She had asked Varric how Merrill was doing and he often merely had shrugged his shoulders, looking unhappy. What a coward Hawke had been. All for good reason, a voice inside her head was saying, but after talking to Isabela, and remembering Varric's pained expressions about his Daisy, she wasn't so sure anymore.

Her hand turned the doorknob, and as she pushed the door open, she took a deep breath.  


* * *

Beyond all hope, Merrill had not expected Hawke to come. She had hoped, and prayed to the creators, and besought Isabela to charm Hawke into coming here. Isabela's charm never failed to get the job done. When Hawke came in, Merrill turned her head from her position by one of the tables, staring intently. She had been waiting, for days, patiently. There was nothing else left to do.

Hawke looked splendid wearing the mantle of the Champion of Kirkwall. Her armor was full of ridges and pointy bits. It was probably good that they weren't on any level where they would hug each other, because the pointy bits looked like they would hurt. The armor looked powerful, dangerous and grand, all terms that would describe Hawke well. You could add a bit of dashing hero with the roguish look of the red scarf that was wrapped around her front. She was so beautiful and solemn that Merrill had to avert her eyes before the guilt washed over her.

"Merrill." The elf shivered when Hawke spoke her name, with such obvious surprise carried in it. "Maker, you look terrible." This made Merrill look up at Hawke to meet her gaze, which was full of concern.

"I see you are taking your lessons in charm from F...friends. Like Isabela." Merrill laughed shakily. She shouldn't bristle like that at a simple statement. She knew her clothing was more loose lately, and that she did not eat enough. She knew that she probably used blood magic too much than was healthy for her, explaining the pallor of her skin. She had looked better. "You look fine, Hawke. Thank you for coming. I know it must not be easy." She rose to offer a seat to Hawke and then poured her some water. She had nothing else, there was no time to waste in pretending otherwise. She had always been a terrible host.

Hawke stared at the cup of water, and turned it where it stood on the table. It left a ring of water on the worn wood of the table. Did she see her own reflection in the water? What was Hawke seeing or feeling right now? She no longer was an open book for her to read, not like in the past. It was Merrill who had made her guard herself so. She missed the less guarded Hawke, who smiled so easily. But then, she wouldn't smile anyhow once she heard what Merrill had to say.

"I shall make it brief, Hawke. I know you don't support any of this at all, but please hear me out." Merrill held on to the back of one of the chairs, speaking her words while standing. "I can't fix the mirror. Not with the arulin'holm, not with blood magic. I wish to return to my clan, but I cannot until I have given it one last try. I need to speak to the spirit." Hawke's mouth opened in protest, but Merrill held out her hand. "I know you want no part in this, but there is more. I will go, you cannot stop me. I wish to ask you to come with me. It is possible that he possesses me. In that case I need someone with a sure hand to kill me. You. Or Fenris. Or both. I am aware of the danger. I would trust no one else with this but you."

"Is this...your idea of evening the score, Merrill? If so, it's sick and twisted and perverted, and I cannot believe you would waste my time like this. Didn't I give you what you bloody wanted?" Hawke was actually angry, jumping up so hurriedly that her chair fell over. So angry that she actually kicked the chair and a leg broke off.

"I know you must think I am cruel, but there is no ulterior motive, Hawke. I just mean to finish what I started. It is something I have to do. I don't ask you to understand. No one understands why this is important to me. It's...imagine you are Hawke, the beggar who came to Kirkwall. Only that you are not powerful enough to work yourself to the top like you did. Imagine that your uncle never got you in and you lived in the Gallows in misery, or in Darktown. You knew that you have so much more potential, that you and your family could accomplish anything in life, if only you got the chance. Instead you are starving, and lonely, and trying to figure out that one thing to save your life. Now imagine this on a scale of people. All of the elves, so capable of achieving more, if we knew how. Would you not want to try? Would this not be important to you?" Merrill put her everything into those words. The comparison stood on shaky legs, but maybe Hawke would see.

Hawke stared down at the remains of the chair, kicking pieces of wood around. When she looked up, her eyes were still full of anger tempered with sadness. "It might be important, but I would try to find another way. A way where the price would not be so high. There's always another way."

Merrill shook her head. "You risk your life all the time, Hawke. You always pay the highest price. Have you not already paid it ten times over, that highest price? And still you continue, because that's how you are." She turned her back on Hawke, walking to stand in front of her eluvian. "And this is how I am, now. I do not ask for you to defend me or assist me. I only ask for you to dispose of me when I lose myself to possession."

She felt Hawke stand behind her, seething with rage and other emotions. She finally burst out behind her. "Do you really not know that I loved you, Merrill? Then you broke what I felt for you, and now you're asking me to kill you?"

Merrill wished that the eluvian showed her reflection. Any reflection. That way Hawke would see how she fell apart under those words. "I loved you too, Hawke. I know it seems impossible to believe, but it's true. You are the only one I trust. If you loved me, you will do what is right."

It always came down to that for Hawke.  


* * *

"Move. Let's move out. I don't want to be slaughtered for her filthy actions. The murdering monster." Fenris snarled behind them as the group stumbled through the camp. It felt like walking through a storm-filled sea, waves of hatred clashing over the elf on her right arm. Merrill's other side was flanked by Isabela. The two of them held on to Merrill, to get her away from Sundermount as quickly as possible. Merrill was wounded, and would need Anders' help.

"I want you to shut your mouth, Fenris, and I want it now. Give it a rest." She should have said this years ago. Lately, Hawke felt herself bristling with anger. All the stress of being the Champion of Kirkwall, between the lines of the Circle and the Templars was wearing on her. This enmity of Fenris' was wearing on her. Merrill broken by Marethari's sacrifice was wearing on her. She didn't even stir when Hawke yelled at Fenris.

They reached the center of the camp, passing Marethari's space, where she had always greeted them on all their visits. Suddenly, Merrill spoke, her first words since Hawke had accepted all responsibility for Merrill's actions when confronted by Fenarel. "They...they would kill me if I wasn't with you. They will kill me." Her voice was tinged with hysteria.

Hawke squeezed Merrill's arm protectively. "Do not worry, Merrill. I will protect you. I am your shield."

On the other side, Isabela spoke quietly. "Hawke is your shield, and I will be your sword arm, if anyone dares lay a hand on you."

Fenris didn't speak. He would be her shadow, trailing them on their return to Kirkwall.  


* * *

The first few days were unbearable. There was nothing left. When she smashed the mirror with her staff, two words burned in her mind, the words that she had heard spoken when the elves of Kirkwall saw her. They whispered them amongst each other, as if she was deaf to them. Dalish Pariah.

What did Pariahs do? Did they have any goal left in life? She did not know. Pariahs were alone. Merrill was. And yet, she wasn't. They all came to see her. Isabela and Varric, of course. Aveline, the protector. Even Anders, though for him it seemed another opportunity to try and have her dedicate herself to the plight of Kirkwall's mages. At least he capably saw to her wounds. Sebastian offered to pray for Marethari, to properly mourn her. Only Fenris didn't come, but then, she didn't expect him to.

There was Hawke. Her shield. She made sure that Merrill did not linger in her house all by herself. They were wary with each other, careful. Caring.

When Hawke found that the eluvian was destroyed by Merrill's hands, she smiled. "The right thing. I know you did the right thing." She helped clean out all the shards, and disposed of the frame, to remove any trace of the mirror.  


* * *

She knew she shouldn't address him, but it burned on her tongue. Merrill and Fenris kept their contact minimal, but there were always days that they both travelled with Hawke. Tonight was one of these moments. As they walked through the quiet streets of Hightown to supposedly infiltrate a meeting between templars and mages, Merill could no longer keep her mouth shut.

"Do you regret it? What happened with your sister, I mean?" Did Fenris even have regrets? He always seemed bitter, brooding, yet for the most part stoic.

"No." Merrill was not surprised she only earned one syllable. She saw Hawke turn her head briefly, from where she was walking ahead of them.

"You don't wish...that maybe you hadn't found her again?" Merrill thought that in his shoes she might have preferred not knowing the truth about how his lyrium tattoos really came to be, or that his sister had betrayed him in order to become what he hated the most.

"Whatever I wish, it is already done." He sounded so uncaring. In truth, Merrill had never understood him. It was as if the only emotion he was really capable of was anger. Where once it would have pleased her to make him angry, it now only made her feel sad. For him, for Hawke, for all of them. But maybe it was easier for him, with little emotion. Maybe he was better off.

"You are lucky, then. There are so many things I wish I could undo." Merill didn't even know where to begin her list. So many things. Her obsession with the eluvian. Not listening to Marethari. Striking a deal with a pride demon. Not understanding how much the Keeper had loved her. Her self-absorption. Tamlen. Pol. Her ridiculous vengeance plot of 'homewrecking'. Sending Fenris that letter. Her inability to tell Hawke about the true depth of her feelings. Marethari's death. Losing Hawke. Losing her people. Losing herself.

Regret was the rusty blade that served to remind her of the pain she had caused.  


* * *

How well he lied. The witch had no idea what he felt like inside. Of course Fenris was full of regret. He did not regret killing Danarius and Hadriana. The rest...too painful to linger on. If he could he would undo so many things as well. Fighting to free his family from slavery at the price of memory loss and agony. Killing the Fog Warriors in what was possibly the happiest time of his life. Lingering in Kirkwall, getting attached to this ragtag band of mage supporters. His inability to commit to Hawke when he had the chance. The missed chance of killing the elf, to spare him the pain of even considering his regrets.

* * *

Hawke shivered at the pain and loneliness in Merrill's voice. So many things she wished she could undo. She understood the notion. Regret. She would have kept her sister in Kirkwall instead of taking her to the Deep Roads. Bethany would still be alive. She would have kept her mother safe from Quentin. She would have found out the truth about Isabela's relic before so many died because of it. So many things.

She would not have waited years to forgive Merrill for her actions.  


* * *

The air was still and oppressive, dark clouds rolling in from the sea. No matter what year, summers in Lowtown were never pleasant. Merrill sat outside her door, leaning her back against the wall. No one bothered her, no one spoke with her. She was always left alone, as Dalish pariah.

Hawke stepped through the gate of the alienage. When she spotted Merrill sitting outside her house, she lowered herself to the ground as well, sitting next to her. "I wish the storm would roll in already. Too stifling inside?"

Merrill nodded her head, pulling a knee to her chest. Her chin came to rest on it, as she idly looked at Hawke. "Too stifling, too dull inside. I find I cannot really spend much time in there anymore. I don't know what to do with myself."

"You are so smart, so intelligent, so talented. You could do anything, Merrill. Even without...that blasted thing." Hawke leaned her head against the wall, looking up at the sky.

Merrill smiled sadly. "Why are you here, Hawke? What do you come here for? I am not complaining. I just don't understand what changed."

"I...forgave you. I knocked down this stupid wall I had built around myself so that I would not have to look at you. I pretended that by not acknowledging your existence, you would no longer have any significance." Hawke opened her eyes and locked gazes with the elf. "Look at you. Beautiful and in so much pain. I meant it when I said I want to be your shield. Have you not suffered enough? Have I not suffered enough?" She did not smile. "I missed you. I missed our friendship. It just took me a couple years to find out it was not all falsehood and lies."

Merrill pressed a cheek against a bony knee, flushed and embarassed. "Did you know I tried to drown myself?" Hawke's eyes widened in disbelief. "I should thank Varric and Isabela for keeping quiet about it. But you know what? I didn't want to drown. I just wasn't strong enough to carry all this weight. I am...damaged, Hawke. I keep drowning metaphorically, all the time. I learned to swim, a little bit, because Isabela forced me to learn, and I can just keep myself afloat now. I am scared that I will drag you down into this water with me. It's cold and unpleasant." She blindly stared at the vhenedahl in the center of the alienage. "I want to go back home. I just don't know where home is, Hawke."

Hawke reached for Merrill's hand. "Let me be your home. I can guide you. I can carry your weight, and mine. You will not drag me down. You only need to be honest with me. No tricks, no games. No vengeance. Just us."

Thunder was crackling loudly, as the storm finally rolled in. Hawke moved an arm around Merrill's thin shoulders, and looked up at the tall vhenedahl, the leaves shaking in the wind. "It's going to rain, Merrill."

The Dalish looked up as well, with a smile. "Have you ever been as happy as that day? I felt like I had no care in the world. Just the rain, the relief from the heat, your laughter and your touch. I have never felt like it again."

Hawke rose, as the first raindrops started falling onto their skin. She pulled the elf up with her. "We'll always have the rain, Merrill, and new, happier memories to make. I think I can be happier than that day. Don't you think?"

Impulsively, Merrill threw her arms around Hawke's neck. "We'll always have the rain." She stretched up to kiss the far taller Hawke. The rain soaked their skin within moments, and neither could tell, absorbed in each other. The kiss tasted like sweetness, like promise, like rain.

It tasted like home.


End file.
